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Estate  of  George  D.Bloo 
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Cl.c. 


PROLEGOMENA 


IN  MEMORIAM 


THOMAS  DAVIDSON 

// 

WITH  AN  INDEX  TO    THE  POEM 


S  'io  era  sol  di  me  quel  che  creasti 
Novellamente,  Amor  che'l  del  governi, 
Tu  '1  sai,  che  col  tuo  lume  mi  levasti. 

Dante 


BOSTON    AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

(Cfte  RitersiDe  l^n'sst,  Camfttibge 


Copyright,  1889, 
By  THOMAS  DAVIDSON. 

All  rights  reserved. 


<K& 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Electrot>'ped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


PREFACE. 


In  writing  the  following  Prolegomena  to 
In  Memoriam,  my  aim  has  been  to  bring  out 
into  clearness  the  religious  soul-problem  which 
forms  its  unity.  Though  I  have  been  familiar 
with  the  poem  from  boyhood,  it  is  only  in  the 
last  few  years  that  the  full  import  of  that 
problem  and  of  the  noble  solution  offered  by 
the  poet  has  become  clear  to  me.  The  work, 
as  I  now  understand  it,  seems  to  me  not  only 
the  greatest  English  poem  of  the  century,  — 
which  I  have  always  believed,  —  but  one  of  the 
great  world-poems,  worthy  to  be  placed  on  the 
same  list  with  the  Oresfcia,  the  Diviria  Coin- 
media,  and  Faust.  If  my  brief  essay  contrib- 
ute to  bring  home  this  conviction  to  other 
persons,  I  shall  feel  that  I  have  done  them  a 
service. 

The  numerous  parallel  passages  which  I 
have  introduced  from  other  writers  may  per- 


ivi'23J3395 


iv  Preface. 

haps  give  my  essay  a  pedantic  air.  If  so,  my 
excuse  is  this :  I  wished  to  show  that  In 
Memoriam  hes  in  the  chief  current  of  the 
world's  thought,  since  otherwise  it  would  not 
be  a  world-poem.  For,  as  George  Buchanan 
says, 

"  Sola  doctorum  monumenta  vatum 
Nesciunt  Fati  imperium  severi ; 
Sola  contemnunt  Phlegethonta  et  Orci 
Jura  superbi." 

Tennyson  is  indeed  "the  heir  of  all  the  ages." 
The  roots  of  his  thought  have  struck  down 
deep  into  the  universal  thought,  into  the 
Logos. 

The  Index  is  mainly  a  copy  of  one  pub- 
lished in  1862  by  Moxon  &  Co.,  of  London.  I 
have  merely  corrected  a  few  errors,  shortened 
many  of  the  quotations,  and  adapted  the 
whole  to  the  later  editions  of  the  poem.  In 
these  there  is  an  additional  ode,  No.  XXXIX. 
Persons  using  the  Index  along  with  the  earlier 
editions  must  add  one  to  the  number  of  every 
ode  after  the  thirty-eighth. 

Thomas  Davidson. 

New  York,  February  ij,  i88g. 


CONTEXTS. 


Page 

Introduction.    (Prologue.) i 

The  Decay  and  Restoration  of  Faith.  The  Nature  of 
Faith  and  its  Relation  to  Understanding. 

Chapter  I.     (i-viii.) 27 

The  poet  justifies  his  grief,  describes  its  effects,  ex- 
plains why  he  writes  of  it,  refuses  cheap  consolation, 
and  seeks  only  to  embalm  the  past. 

Chapter  II.     (ix-xxi.) 3° 

The  circumstances  of  the  friend's  death,  the  return  of 
the  body  to  England,  and  its  burial. 

Chapter  III.     (xxii-xxvii.) 33 

The  friendship  for  the  dead.  Its  reality  and  blessed- 
ness.    Not  to  be  quenched  by  time  or  sorrow. 

Chapter  IV.    (xxviii-xxxvii.) 35 

Turning  from  the  past  to  the  future.  The  immortality 
of  the  soul.  The  hope  coming  from  revelation  con- 
firmed by  reason.     Reason  and  Revelation. 

Chapter  V.    (xxxviii-xlviii.) 4^ 

The  simple  conviction  of  immortality  does  not  satisfy 
the  heart,  which  desires  to  realize  immortal  life  and 
communicate  with  the  departed.     Metempsychosis. 

Chapter  VI.     (xlix-lviii.) 49 

More  problems.  The  problem  of  Evil  and  Death. 
The  conflict  of  Nature  and  Faith. 

Chapter  VII.     (lix-lxxi.) 5^ 

Acceptance  of  Sorrow,  as  a  chastener.  Hope.  Play 
of  the  fancy.     Visions  of  sleep  and  waking. 

Chapter  VIII.     (Ixxii-lxxvii.) 63 

What  his  friend  might  have  been.  Vanity  of  fame  and 
of  monuments. 


vi  Co)itaits. 

Chapter  IX.     (Ixxviii-lxxxiii.) 67 

Sorrow  woven  into  life.  The  example  of  the  friend 
followed.     The  moral  world  reconstructed. 

CH.A.PTER  X.     (Ixxxiv-lx.xxix.) 71 

The  "  low  beginnings  of  content,"  resulting  in  (i)  ac- 
ceptance of  loss,  (2)  new  attachments,  (3)  power  to 
dwell  with  pleasure  in  the  past. 

Chapter  XI.     (xc-xcvi.) 78 

Desire  still  to  see  the  friend  in  any  form.  Difficulties. 
Trance.  Ecstatic  union  with  the  glorified  spirit. 
Vision  of  truth.     Doubt. 

Chapter  XII.     (xcvii-ciii.) 91 

The  presence  of  the  lost  one,  as  a  universal  spirit, 
begins  to  be  felt,  though  only  at  times.  The  old 
sore  still  easUy  opened.    A  happy,  significant  dream. 

Chapter  XIII.     (civ-cxiv.) 96 

Though  our  life  at  present  is  full  of  disappointment 
and  sorrow,  the  poet  will  embrace  it,  and  let  sorrow 
make  him  wise.  The  wisdom  buried  with  his  friend. 
Knowledge  and  Wisdom. 

Chapter  XIV.     (cxv-cxxiv.) 104 

The  return  of  spring  reawakens  hope,  which  soon 
ripens  into  faith  and  confidence. 

Chapter  XV.     (cxxv-cxxxi.) 112 

Faith,  Hope,  and  Love  all  intact.  The  greatest  is 
Love,  without  which  Faith  would  be  weak. 

Chapter  XVI.     (Epilogue.) 120 

The  New  Life,  full  of  joy  and  assurance.     The  Divine 
Process.     Conclusion. 
Index  to  In  Memoriam 125 


PROLEGOMENA   TO   IN 

MEMORIAM. 


INTRODUCTION. 

Prologue. 

TJie  Decay  and  Restoration  of  Faith.  The 
Nature  of  Faith  and  its  Relation  to  Under- 
standing. 

Out  of  original  character,  instruction,  and 
experience  every  human  being  builds  up  his 
own  moral  world,  an  ideal  order  of  things 
w'hich  imparts  to  his  actions  whatever  ration- 
ality and  aim  they  may  possess.  Upon  the 
world  thus  created  everything  in  his  life  de- 
pends, his  optimism  or  pessimism,  his  happi- 
ness or  misery.  If  his  world  is  rational,  in- 
spiring faith  and  courage,  by  offering  motives 
for  continuous,  enthusiastic  activity,  his  life, 
whatever  may  befall,  is  a  blessed  unity.  If, 
on  the  contrary,  his  world  fails  to  disclose  any 
purpose,  any  reason  why  one  course  of  action 
should  be  preferred  to  another,  anything  worthy 
of  supreme  love  and  devotion,  life  is  fragment- 
ary, feeble,  and,  when  temperament  fails,  miser- 
able. Success  in  life,  in  the  deepest  sense,  de- 
pends upon  his  power  to  build  up  and  sustain 
an  aimful  and  consistent  moral  world. 


2  Introduction. 

Unfortunately,  such  a  world,  even  after  it 
has  been  built  up,  may  be  destroyed,  and  no 
greater  disaster  can  happen  to  any  man.^  In 
such  an  event,  the  will  is  paralyzed,  and  life 
loses  meaning  and  direction.^  And,  since  a 
man's  moral  world  is  the  response  to  his  whole 
moral  nature,  including  three  elements,  insight, 
love,  and  energy,  the  catastrophe  may  come 
through  the  failure  of  any  one  of  these,  that  is, 
through  doubt,  widowed  or  blasted  affection, 
or  unavailing  activity.  The  world  of  a  Faust 
is  shattered  by  the  first,  that  of  a  Tennyson 
by  the  second,  that  of  a  Charles  Albert  by  the 
third. 

A  shattered  moral  world  means  a  world  with- 
out rationality  or  aim.  Now  the  postulates  of 
the  reason,  as  Kant  has  shown,  are  God,  Free- 
dom, Immortality.  Let  a  man  doubt  whether 
there  be  any  moral  law  in  the  world,  whether 
he  be  free  to  obey  such  law,  or  whether  obedi- 
ence to  that  law  will  result  in  good,  and  dis- 
obedience in  evil,  to  him,  and  his  moral  world 
is  wrecked.  Life,  offering  no  motive  for  moral 
action,  is  not  worth  living. 

///  Mtjnoriam  is  the  record  of  the  shattering 
and  rebuilding  of  a  moral  world  in  a  man's 

1  Admirably  brought  out  in  Frances  Browne's  Losses. 

2  As  Tennyson  puts  it  (In  Mem.,  iv.  i), 

"  My  will  is  bondsman  to  the  dark; 
I  sit  within  a  helraless  bark." 


Iiitroductioji.  3 

soul.  It  belongs  to  the  same  class  of  works 
as  the  Divine  Comedy  and  Faust ;  only,  whereas 
the  first  of  these,  despite  its  title,  is  epic,  and 
the  second  dramatic,  this  is  lyric.  The  hero 
of  ///  Memoriaffi,  like  the  hero  of  the  Divifie 
Comedy,  is  the  poet  himself.  Both  poems  are 
idealized  records  of  actual  experiences.  In 
both  the  person  beloved  dies  young,  leaving 
the  lover  for  a  time  utterly  desolate.  In  both 
cases  this  desolation,  instead  of  overwhelming 
the  lover,  finally  quickens  his  spiritual  percep- 
tions, so  that  he  is  enabled  to  find  in  the 
spiritual  world  what  he  has  lost  in  the  material 
one,  to  recover  in  incorruption  what  he  has 
lost  in  corruption.  In  both  cases,  a  pure,  rev- 
erent human  love  leads  the  soul  of  the  lover 
up  to  God.  Tennyson's  Arthur  does  for  the 
deeply  religious  and  cultivated  man  of  the 
nineteenth  century  what  Dante's  Beatrice  did 
for  the  similarly  endowed  man  of  the  four- 
teenth. Dante  finds  again  his  lost  Beatrice  in 
the  imaginary  paradise  of  his  time ;  Tenny- 
son finds  his  Arthur  "  mix'd  with  God  and  Na- 
ture." In  both  poems,  the  Divine  Comedy  and 
In  Meinoriam,  the  fundamental  thought  is  the 
same:  Man's  true  happiness  consists  in  the 
perfect  conformity  of  his  will  to  the  divine  will, 
and  this  conformity  is  attained  through  love, 
first  of  man,  and  then  of  God.  "  Our  wills 
are  ours  to  make  them  thine"  is  the  modern 


4  Intro  ductio7i. 

rendering  of  "E  la  sua  voluntade  e  nostra 
pace."^ 

In  Meifwriam  naturally  suggests  the  Platonic 
Sonnets  of  Shakespeare  (I.-CXXVI.)  ;  but 
there  is  really  no  more  than  a  most  superficial 
resemblance  between  the  two  works,  due  to 
the  fact  that  both  are  addressed  by  one  man  to 
another.  In  Shakespeare's  Sonnets  there  is  no 
rising  from  flesh  to  spirit,  only  a  series  of  love- 
vicissitudes.  The  truth  is,  In  Memoriam  bears 
about  the  same  relation  to  Shakespeare's  Son- 
nets as  the  Divine  Co??iedy  does  to  Petrarch's. 

In  In  Me77ioriam  the  poet's  moral  world  is 
shattered  by  widowed  affection,  by  the  loss 
of  a  beloved  friend,  in  whom  he  had  found 
that  brother,  that  more-than-brother,^  through 
whose  lovableness  he  was  able  to  comprehend 
the  divine  lovableness,^  in  a  word,  to  see  God.* 

^  Paradise,  iii.  85.  Compare  the  last  lines  of  the 
poem. 

-  "More  than  my  brothers  are  to  me,"  ix.  5;  Ixxix.  i. 

^  He  that  loveth  not  his  brother  whom  he  hath  seen, 
cannot  love  God  whom  he  hath  not  seen. —  i  John  iv.  21. 

*  "  The  expression  of  an  eye, 
Where  God  and  Nature  met  in  light."    (c.\i.  5.) 

"  Though  mix'd  with  God  and  Nature  thou, 
I  seem  to  love  thee  more  and  more."   (cxxx.  3.) 

Cf.  what  Dante  says  of  Beatrice  {Vita  Ahtova,  cap. 
xxvi.). 

"  Ella  sen  va,  sentendosi  laudare, 

Benignamente  d"  umilti  vestuta  ; 


Iiitj-oduction.  5 

This  loss  and  the  ensuing  grief  and  darkness 
of  soul  raised  in  the  poet's  mind  doubts  with 
regard  to  the  righteousness  or  moral  govern- 
ment of  the  world,  and  robbed  life  of  its  mean- 
ing. The  poem  describes  in  detail  the  nature 
of  these  doubts,  and  the  process  by  which  they 
were  ultimately  dispelled,  and  faith  in  God, 
Freedom,  and  Immortality  was  restored. 

The  philosophic  meaning  of  the  poem  is 
summed  up  in  the  prologue,  written  in  1849. 
This  takes  the  form  of  an  address  or  prayer 
to  "  immortal  Love,"  the  "strong  Son  of  God," 
the  author  of  all  things  in  heaven  and  in  earth, 
of  life  and  of  death,  the  source  of  that  justice 
which  makes  life  rational.  Tennyson,  like 
Dante,^  holds  that  the  efficient  cause  of  the 
universe  is  love,  and  that  life  without  love  is 
worse   than   death. ^     Nor  is   the  divine    love 

E  par  clie  sia  una  cosa  venuta 

Di  cielo  in  terra  a  miracol  mostrare," 

and  what  Emerson  says  to  his  friend  in  "Friendship": 

"Through  thee  alone  the  sky  is  arched, 
Through  thee  the  rose  {"s  red. 
All  things  through  thee  take  nobler  form, 
And  look  beyond  the  earth  ; 
The  mill-round  of  our  fate  appears 
A  sun-path  in  thy  worth." 

1  "  L'amor  clre  muove  il  sole  e  I'altre  stelle."  Farad., 
last  line. 

^  See  xxvi.  3,  4.  Compare  .Yristotle's  words :  "  With- 
out friends  no  one  would  choose  to  live,  though  he  pos- 
sessed all  other  good  things."     Nik.  Et/i.,  viii.  i  :  ii55«, 


6  Introduction. 

which  made  and  sustains  the  universe  differ- 
ent in  kind  from  human  love. 

"  Thou  seemest  human  and  divine, 
The  highest,  holiest,  manhood,  thou." 

We  may,  therefore,  trust  the  divine  love  for  all 
that  we  should  expect  from  the  highest  human 
love,  and  more.  The  universe  will  satisfy  the 
three  postulates  of  the  reason. 

(i.)  It  will  be  governed  by  a  moral  law  far 
more  perfect  than  any  that  can  be  expressed 
in  human  systems. 

"  Our  Uttle  systems  have  their  day ; 

They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be : 
They  are  but  broken  lights  of  thee. 
And  thou,  O  Lord,  art  more  than  they."  i 

5  sq.  Also  Fichte's ;  "  Life  is  love  ;  and  the  whole  form 
and  force  of  life  consist  in  love,  and  arise  out  of  love." 
Way  to  a  Blessed  Life,  Lect.  i.  This  doctrine  may  be 
said  to  be  fundamental  in  Aryan  thought.  The  Veda 
tells  us,  speaking  of  creation  :  — 

"  Then  first  came  Love  upon  it,  the  new  spring 
Of  mind  —  yea,  poets  in  their  hearts  discerned. 
Pondering,  this  bond  between  created  things 
And  uncreated." 

Hesiod  makes  Love  ("Epos)  the  child  of  Chaos  and  the 
brother  of  Earth  (  Thcog.,  120) ;  and  Parmenides,  speak- 
ing of  Genesis,  says :  — 

"Foremost  of  gods  she  gave  birth  unto  Love;  yea,  foremost  of  all 
gods." 

See  Plato,  .S/w/^j.,  178  B.  And  who  does  not  remember 
the  glorious  address  to  Venus,  as  the  author  of  all  life, 
in  the  exordium  of  Lucretius'  poem.-' 

1  Compare   the   words    uttered   by    Herakleitos,    five 


Introduction.  7 

(2.)  It  will  leave  the  human  will  free,  even 
though  reason  may  be  unable  to  see  how ;  but 
that  freedom  will  be  secured  only  by  conform- 
ity to  the  divine  will. 

"Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how;  '" 
Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  thine."  ^ 

(3.)  It  will  make  possible  a  conscious  im- 
mortality for  the  individual.  Our  sense  of 
justice  demands  this. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust : 

Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why ; 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die ; 
And  thou  hast  made  him:  thou  art  just." 

But  all  these  things,  the  poet  admits,  are 
only  postulates  of  reason,  matters  of  faith,  not 
objects  of  understanding  or  knowledge. 

"  We  have  but  faidi  :  we  cannot  know  ; 
For  knowledge  is  of  things  we  see ; 
And  yet  we  trust  it  comes  from  thee, 
A  beam  in  darkness  :  let  it  grow." 

This   verse    contains    the   whole    gist   of    the 

hundred  years  before  our  era :  "  All  human  laws  are  fed 
by  one,  the  divine.  For  it  prevaileth  as  far  as  it  listeth, 
and  sufficeth  for  all,  and  surviveth  all."  (Frag.,  xci. 
edit.  By  water.) 

1  Cf.  "  Anzi  h  formale  ad  esto  beato  esse 
Tenersi  dentro  alia  divina  voglia, 
Perch'  una  fansi  nostre  voglie  stesse. 


E  la  sua  voluntade  e  nostra  pace.'- 

Dh'ina  Cammed.,  Farad.,  iii.  79  sqq. 


8  Introduction. 

poem,  which  might  very  well  have  for  its  sec- 
ond title,  "  The  Decay  and  Revival  of  Faith." 
Since,  then,  faith  is  the  source  of  all  those 
convictions  which  give  life  its  meaning,  we 
must  here  stop  and  carefully  inquire  :  What  is 
faith?  How  does  it  stand  related  to  know- 
ledge ?  What  are  its  credentials  ?  These  are 
all  one  question  under  different  aspects. 

Faith  (TTtcTTt?),  as  a  philosophic  term,  seems 
to  have  been  first  employed  by  Parmenides. 
It  occurs  in  his  extant  fragments  twice,  and 
each  time  means  direct  intellectual  intuition 
of  necessary  truth,  as  opposed  to  mere  con- 
tingent opinion,  arrived  at  through  the  medium 
of  sensuous  experience  or  moral  persuasion. 

The  passages  are  these  :  — 

(i)  "Thou  needs  must  investigate  all  things, 

First  the  errorless  core  of  the  truth  that  lighth'  persuad- 

eth, 
Then  the  opinions  of  mortals,  where  no  true  faith  doth 

inhabit  " 

(2)  "  Ne'er  will  the  potence  of  faith  admit  that  from 

being  proceedeth 
Aught  but  itself." 

Faith,  then,  according  to  Parmenides,  instead 
of  being  something  inferior  to  empirical  know- 
ledge, which  "is  of  things  we  see,"  is  superior 
to  it,  being  the  very  "  errorless  core  of  the 
truth,"  the  necessary  assent  given  by  the  mind 
to  what  is  self-evident.  By  the  time  of  Aris- 
totle faith  has  lost  this  .lofty  position,  as  the 


Introdnctioii.  9 

source  of  certainty,  and  come  to  mean  the  as- 
sent which  the  mind,  not  by  necessity  of  evi- 
dence, but  by  the  balancing  of  probabiUties, 
accords  to  the  conclusions  of  experience. 
"Faith  follows  opinion,"^  says  that  philoso- 
pher. From  this  time  on,  in  Greek  thought, 
the  term  wavers  between  these  two  meanings, 
intuition  and  belief.  Proklos,  the  last  of  the 
great  Greek  thinkers,  holds  faith  to  be  the 
highest  of  the  three  ways  leading  to  God,  the 
other  two  being  love  and  truth.  It  is  due  to 
direct  divine  illumination.  Some  Christian 
sects  held  the  same  doctrine ;  but,  in  the 
Christian  world,  faith  had  early  many  different 
meanings.  F.  C.  Baur  enumerates  six  senses 
in  which  it  is  used  by  St.  Paul.^  In  the  Epis- 
tle to  the  Hebrews  we  read,  "  Faith  is  the  sub- 
stance of  the  things  hoped  for,  the  test  of  the 
things  that  are  not  seen."  In  modern  philo- 
sophical language  this  would  read:  Faith  is 
the  immediate  intuition  of  the  ideal,  as  distinct 
from  the  real,  world.  St.  Augustine  defines 
faith  as  "  thinking  with  assent,"  ^  and  Thomas 
Aquinas,  agreeing  with  this,  says  :  "  The  act 
which  is  believing  includes  a  firm   adherence 

1  Ao'Ij?  eTrerai  ttIcttis,  Dc  All.,  iii.  3:  428(7  20 

2  Vorlesungen  iiber  neiitestamciitliche  Theologie,  p.  1 54. 
'^  Credere  est  cum  assensione  cogitare.     De  Prczdes- 

tinatione  Sanctorum,  chap,  ii.,  on  which  see  Thomas 
Aquinas,  Su7h.  Tlicolog.,  11.^  q.  ij.  art.  i. 


lo  Introduction. 

to  one  side  (of  a  question),  and  in  so  far  the 
believer  coincides  with  the  knower  and  under- 
stander  ;  and  yet  his  knowledge  is  not  perfect 
through  clear  vision,  and  in  so  far  he  agrees 
with  the  doubter,  the  suspecter,  and  the  opiner. 
And  thus  it  is  characteristic  of  the  believer 
that  he  thinks  with  assent.  For  this  reason, 
this  act  of  belief  is  distinguished  from  all 
other  acts  of  the  intellect  that  relate  to  the 
true  and  the  false."  .  .  .  "  The  intellect  of  the 
believer  is  determined  to  one  alternative,  not 
by  reason,  but  by  will."  Among  modern  theo- 
logians no  one  has  dealt  so  explicitly  with 
faith  as  Rosmini,  who  gives  the  following  as 
the  order  of  the  acts  of  the  soul  which  pre- 
cede, constitute,  and  follow  the  act  of  faith. 

"(i.)  Revealed  knowledge  of  God,  through 
hearing  (external  action). 

"(2.)  Perception  of  God,  or  effectual  light  is- 
suing from  that  revealed  knowledge,  especially 
from  that  part  of  it  which  is  mysterious  (action 
performed  in  the  essence  of  the  soul). 

''(3.)  A  consequent  feeling,  a  sweet  and  sub- 
lime delight,  issuing  from  that  perception,  and 
persuading  us  of  the  truth  of  the  things  per- 
ceived. 

"(4.)  Power  to  believe  and  act  holily,  the 
effect  of  this  feeling. 

"(5.)  Voluntary  act  of  belief,  a  practical 
judgment  on  the  truth  and  excellence  of  the 


Introduction.  1 1 

things  known  and  perceived,  an  act  of  estima- 
tion, the  recognition  of  God  as  light,  truth,  and 
infinite  authority.  This  act,  if  a  man  does  not 
recalcitrate  with  his  evil  will,  is  followed  by 
love  and  holy,  meritorious  acts  of  living  faith. 

"  (6.)  Love,  which  follows  this  act  of  prac- 
tical estimation. 

"  (7.)  Holy  action,  following  from  love."  ^ 

M.  Renan,  speaking  of  the  question  of  indi- 
vidual immortality,  says :  "  Perhaps  it  is  well 
that  an  eternal  veil  should  cover  truths  which 
have  a  value  only  when  they  are  the  fruit  of  a 
pure  heart."  ^  The  implication  here  is  that 
it  is  purity  of  heart  that  gives  eyes  to  faith. 
"  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall 
see  God." 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  attempts  made  by 
great  and  profoundly  religious  men,  from  the 
rise  of  philosophy  to  the  present  day,  to  give 
a  meaning  to  the  word  '  faith.'  Though  show- 
ing wide  differences  in  results,  they  agree  in 
two  things  :  (i)  That  faith  is  a  faculty  of  the 
soul  which  enables  it  to  grasp  truths  inacces- 
sible to  understanding  and  knowledge,  the 
very  truths  which  are  required  to  give  life  its 
meaning  and  consecration ;  (2)  that  its  efficacy 
depends  upon  a  condition  of  the  heart  and 
will,  upon  a  pure  heart  and  a  good  will. 

1  Antropologia  Soprannatiirale,  pp.  94  sq. 

2  Introduction  to  the  Book  of  Job. 


1 2  Litroduction. 

It  is  these  two  essential  elements  that  enter 
into  Tennyson's  conception  of  faith.  Faith 
gives  us 

"  truths  that  never  can  be  proved 
Until  we  close  with  all  we  loved, 
And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul."  ^ 

It  "  comes  of  self  control ;  "  ^  it  has  its  source 
in  reverence  ;  ^  it  is  the  protest  of  the  heart 
against  the  "  freezing  reason's  colder  part." 
It  is  wisdom,  as  distinct  from,  and  superior  to, 
knowledge.  That  the  poet  identifies  faith  with 
wisdom  is  clear  from  a  comparison  of  the  fol- 
lowing passages : 

"  Let  knowledge  grow  from  more  to  more, 
But  more  of  reverence  in  us  dwell ; 
That  jnind  and  soiil,  according  well, 
May  make  one  music  as  before, 
"  But  vaster." 

"  For  she  (knowledge)  is  earthly  of  the  mind,- 

But  Wisdom  heavenly  of  the  sotil." 

Here  Wisdom  is  written  with  a  capital,  to  show 
that  it  means  the  personified  wisdom  of  the 
Alexandrine  Jews,  which  was  another  name  for 
the  Logos,  or  Word,  spoken  of  in  the  opening 
verses  of  St.  John's  Gospel,  and  identified  with 
Christ.'*     But,   though   faith  or  wisdom  deals 

1  cxxxi.  3;  Cf.  Pro!.,  i,  6;  Iv.  5;  cxxiv.  6;  cxxvii.  i. 

2  cxxxi.  3. 

8  Prol.,  7  ;  cxiv.  6. 

*  See  Prcroerb5,\\\.  19;  viii.,  ix.,  and  the  whole  Book 


bitrodiiction.  1 3 

with  higher  things  than  knowledge  does,  it  is 
inferior  to  knowledge  in  power  to  produce  cer- 
tainty. The  reason  of  this  is  that  its  objects 
are  formless,  and  the  human  mind  has  diffi- 
culty in  thinking  anything  of  this  sort.  "  We 
walk  by  faith,  not  by  form,"  ^  says  St.  Paul, 
But,  as  Aristotle  remarks,  "The  soul  never 
thinks  without  a  phantasm.'"^  Hence,  we  are 
compelled,  in  order  to  grasp  the  things  of 
faith,  to  have  them  presented  to  us  in  the 
form  of  a  parable,  allegory,  myth,  or  tale.  As 
Dante  so  well  says  {Parad.,  iv.  40)  : 

"  Thus  it  behoves  your  minds  to  be  addressed, 
Because  alone  from  things  of  sense  they  seize. 
What  then  they  render  fit  for  intellect. 

And  so  it  is  that  Scripture  condescends 
To  your  ability ;  and  hands  and  feet 
Ascribes  to  God,  and  meaneth  something  else." 

Tennyson  often  insists  upon  the  necessity  of 
a  form  for  faith,  for  example  : 

"  O  thou  that  after  toil  and  storm 

Mayst  seem  to  have  reach 'd  a  purer  air, 
Whose/rtzM  has  centre  everj^vhere, 
Nor  cares  to  fix  itself  to  form, 

of  Wisdom,  perhaps  written  by  Philo  the  Jew,  whose 
works  contain  much  regarding  Wisdom  and  the  Logos. 
Cf.  I  Corinth,  i.  30. 

1  2  Corinth,  v.  7.  Such  is  the  correct  translation  of 
this  passage.  Cf.  The  figure  of  this  world  passeth 
away.    I  Corinth,  vii.  31. 

2  De  Anima,  ill.  7  :  431a  16  sq. 


14  Introduction. 

"  Leave  thou  thy  sister  when  she  prays. 

"  Her /c7////  thvo' form  is  pure  as  thine."  ^ 

"  And  all  is  well,  though y;?////  a.nd/o7'm 
Be  sundered  in  the  night  of  fear."^ 

"  Though  t7-uths  in  manhood  darkly  join 
Deep-seated  in  our  mystic  frame, 
We  yield  all  blessing  to  the  name 
Of  Him  that  made  them  cwrent  coin. 

"  For  Wisdom  dealt  with  mortal  powers 
Where  truth  in  closest  words  shall  fail, 
When  trtith  embodied  i)i  a  tale 
Shall  enter  in  at  lowly  doors."  * 

This  last  quotation  helps  us  to  understand 
the  relation  of  faith  to  knowledge,  and  to  find 
the  credentials  for  the  former.  The  truths  of 
faith  are  contained  in  our  very  frame  or  con- 
stitution, which  is  mystical,  that  is,  opens  out 
into  the  Infinite,  into  God.  Every  soul  can 
truly  say,  "  I  and  the  Father  are  one."  Tenny- 
son often  dwells  upon  this  mystic  union  of  the 
finite  with  the  Infinite.  Speaking  of  the  origin 
of  the  individual  soul,  he  says  : 

"  A  soul  shall  draw  from  out  the  vast 
And  strike  his  being  into  bounds, 

"  And,  moved  thro'  life  of  lower  phase, 
Result  in  man,  be  born  and  think."  * 

1  xxxiii.  T,  3.  2  cxxvii.  i. 

2  xxxvi.  I,  2.  *  Epilogue,  31. 


Introdnctio7i.  1 5 

Of  the  birth  of  the  individual  consciousness, 
he  says  : 

"  But  as  he  grows  he  gathers  much 

And  learns  the  use  of  '  I '  and  '  me,' 
And  finds  '  I  am  not  what  I  see, 
And  other  than  the  things  I  touch.' 

"  So  rounds  he  to  a  separate  muid 

From  whence  clear  memory  may  begin, 
As  thro'  the  frame  that  binds  him  in 
His  isolation  grows  defined." 

Other  even  more  distinct  utterances  to  the 
same  effect  may  be  found  in  the  poems, 
"  Flower  in  the  crannied  wall,"  "  De  Profun- 
dis,"  and  "The  Higher  Pantheism,"  in  the  last 
of  which  occur  these  verses  : 

"  Dark  is  the  world  to  thee  :  thyself  art  the  reason  why : 
For  is  He  not  all  but  thou,  that  hast  power  to  feel  '  I 
am  I ! ' 

"  Glory  about  thee,  without  thee  :  and  thou  fulfillest  thy 

doom. 
Making  Him  broken  gleams,  and  a  stifled  splendor  and 

gloom. 

"  Speak  to   Him  thou,  for  He  hears,  and    Spirit  with 

Spirit  can  meet  — 
Closer  is  He  than  breathing,  and  nearer  than  hands  and 

feet." 

The  gist  of  all  this  is,  that  the  human  being, 
in  putting  on  individuality,  in  striking  his  being 
into  bounds,  in  rounding  to  a  separate  mind 
capable  of   knowledge,  readily  loses  the  con- 


1 6  Introduction. 

sciousness  of  his  oneness  with  the  Infinite,^ 
which  consciousness  is  faith,  the  condition  of 
all  knowledge,  as  Parmenides  saw.  St.  Bona- 
ventura  has  put  this  admirably  : 

"  Strange  is  the  blindness  of  the  intellect 
which  does  not  consider  that  which  it  first 
sees,  and  without  which  it  can  know  nothing. 
But,  as  the  eye,  when  intent  upon  the  variety 
of  colors,  does  not  see  the  light  through  which 
it  sees  other  things,  or,  if  it  sees,  does  not 
observe  it,  so  the  eye  of  our  mind,  when  intent 
upon  these  particular  and  universal  entities, 
does  not  observe  that  being  which  is  above  all 
genus,  although  it  is  first  presented  to  the 
mind,  and  all  other  things  are  presented  only 
through  it.  Whence  it  is  most  truly  manifest 
that,  as  the  eye  of  the  bat  behaves  to  the  light, 
so  the  eye  of  our  mind  behaves  to  the  most 
obvious  things  of  nature.^    The  reason  is,  that, 

1  Compare  Wordsworth,  "Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep 
and  a  forgetting"  (Ode  to  hnmortality),  and  Mrs. 
Browning's  lines  near  the  beginning  of  Aurora  Leigh  : 

"  I  have  not  so  far  left  the  coasts  of  life 
To  travel  inland,  that  I  cannot  hear 
The  murmur  of  the  outer  Infinite, 
Which  unweaned  babies  smile  at  in  their  sleep, 
When  wondered  at  for  smiling." 

2  This  sentence  is  almost  a  literal  translation  from 
Aristotle,  who  is  not  usually  regarded  as  mystical: 
"ncrirep  yap  ra  twv  vvKTep'iSwv  o/a/xaTa  irphs  rh  (ptyyos  6%^' 
rh  /ie6'  7]fj.epav,  oinoi  Ka\  rrjs  rifxerepas  ypvx^iS  6  vovs  irphs  ra 
rf  (pvffii  (pavepuiTara  iravrocv  (the  things  most  obvious  in 
their  nature).     Metapk.,  A-,  i  :  993(5  9  sqq. 


Introduction.  ly 

being  accustomed  to  the  darkness  of  (indi- 
vidual) objects,  and  the  phantasms  of  sensible 
things,  when  it  sees  the  light  of  the  highest 
being,  it  seems  to  see  nothing  (not  understand- 
ing that  this  very  darkness  is  the  highest  illu- 
mination of  our  minds)  ;  just  as  when  the  eye 
sees  pure  light,  it  seems  to  see  nothing.''^ 

But,  while  our  "  isolation  "  through  the  flesh 
obscures  for  us  our  oneness  with  the  Infinite, 
it  serves  to  define  our  individual  personality : 

"  This  use  may  lie  in  blood  and  breath, 
Which  else  were  fruitless  of  their  due, 
Had  man  to  learn  himself  anew 
Beyond  the  second  birth  of  Death."  ^ 

And  even  when  the  flesh  falls  away,  and  we 

"  close  with  all  we  loved 
And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul,"^ 

this  individuality  will  continue  :^ 

"  Eternal  form  shall  still  divide 
The  eternal  soul  from  all  beside."* 

From  all  this  it  is  clear  that,  while  know- 
ledge is  the  consciousness  of  our  distinctness 
from  the  Infinite,  and  the  relation  of  our 
spirits,  as  distinct,  to  it,  faith  is  the  conscious- 
ness of  our  oneness  with  the  Infinite.  It  is  in 
this  double  consciousness  that  the  essence  of 
religion  and  man's  true  blessedness   consist. 

^  Itine7-arium  Mentis  in  Deuni,  chap.  v. 

2  xlv.  4.  3  cxxxi.  3.  *  xlvii.  2. 


1 8  Introduction. 

The  human  spirit  shrinks  from  the  thought  of 
losing  either  side  of  it,  of  losing  knowledge  of 
self  and  not-self,  and  sinking  into  a  Buddhistic 
nirvana,  or  of  losing  faith,  and  finding  itself 
an  unsustained,  hopeless  wanderer  in  an  alien 
universe.  And  all  causes  for  such  shrinking 
arise  from  the  difficulty  of  finding  symbols  or 
forms  in  which  to  express  and  justify  the  con- 
tent of  faith  to  knowledge,  in  which  alone 
there  is  perfect  clearness  for  the  ordinary  man. 
All  religions  have  been  merely  so  many  at- 
tempts to  find  such  symbols  ^  or  forms,  and 
their  success  has  depended  upon  the  fitness  of 
these.  The  fit  symbol  is  that  which  finds  a  re- 
sponse, an  "assent,"  as  Augustine  and  Thomas 
Aquinas  call  it,  in  the  faculty  of  faith,  which 
Tennyson,  following  an  old  usage,  calls  the 
soul,^  or  heart,^  as  distinct  from  mind,^  or  rea- 
son,^ —  the  faculty  of  knowledge.  Now,  the 
question  with  regard  to  the  credentials  of  faith 
resolves  itself  into  an  inquiry  into  the  nature 
and  validity  of  this  response  or  assent,  and 
this,  again,  leads  us  to  consider  the  nature  of 
assent  in  general. 

1  Symbol  is  the  Greek  word  for  creed,  as  well  as  for 
the  signs  in  the  sacraments. 

2        "  That  mind  and  soul,  according  well, 

May  make  one  music  as  before."     (Prol.,  7.) 
S  "  A  warmth  within  the  breast  would  melt 
The  freezing  reason  s  colder  part, 
And,  like  a  man  in  wrath,  the  luart 
Stood  up  and  answered,  '  I  have  felt.'  "  (cxj.iv.  4.) 


Litrodiiction.  19 

What,  then,  is  assent  ?     As  no  one  has  dealt 
with  this  question  so  fully  as  Rosmini,  we  may 
answer  in  his  words  :    "  Assent  is  the  act  by 
which  a  man  voluntarily  affirms  with  subjective 
efficacy  any  object  which  is  present  to  his  in- 
telligence," such  object  being  always    a   pos- 
sible  or   ideal   judgment.      To   understand   a 
proposition  and  to  assent  to  it  are  two  widely 
different  things.     The  mere  fact  that  I  under- 
stand the  proposition,  ''  The  soul  is  immortal," 
does  not  compel  me  to  give  my  assent  to  it. 
What,  then,  is  it  in  a  proposition  that  compels 
assent  ?     The  feeling  or  consciousness  that,  if 
we  withheld  assent,  we  should  be  doing  vio- 
lence to  our  own  nature.     I   cannot,   for  ex- 
ample, refuse    my  assent   to  the    proposition, 
"  Not    more    than    one    straight    line    can   be 
drawn  through  a  given  point,  parallel  to  an- 
other straight  line,"  or  to  this,  "Nothing  can 
act  before  it  is,"  without  doing  violence  to  my 
rational  powers,  and  destroying  the  very  pos- 
sibility of  truth.     And  I  have  much  the  same 
feeling  when   I  refuse  assent  to  the  proposi- 
tions, "  My  will  is  free,"  "  My  soul  is  immor- 
tal," "  ^ly  actions  have  inevitable  and  eternal 
consequences  to  me."     I  feel  that,  if  these  are 
not  true,  there  is  no  meaning  in  anything ;  my 
existence  and  all  existence  is  irrational,  mere 
vanity  of  vanities.     It  is  true  that  Kant  has 
tried  to  show  that  the  assent  which  we  give  to 


20  Introduction. 

propositions  in  mathematics  and  philosophy 
of  nature  has  grounds  such  as  are  altogether 
wanting  to  the  assent  which  we  may  accord  to 
metaphysical  propositions.  He  says  that  in 
the  first  case  we  are  aided  by  time  and  space, 
the  forms  of  sense,  and  in  the  second  by  the 
categories  of  the  understanding,-'  whereas, 
when  we  come  to  the  last,  we  find  in  the  "pure 
reason  '"  no  form  or  forms  enabling  us  to  have 
experience  of  its  objects,  and  so  can  only  as- 
sume them  as  postulates,  without  ever  being 
able  to  say  whether  in  reality  anything  corre- 
sponds to  them.  But  is  Kant  right  in  this  ? 
Is  it  true  that  the  pure  reason  has  no  forms 
making  experience  of  its  objects  possible  ? 
Was  not  Parmenides,  the  ancient  Kant,  right, 
when  he  said,  in  his  poetical  way,  that  Justice 
(At'^cT^)  was  the  teacher  of  the  highest  truth  ?  ^ 
And  are  not  the  oft-repeated  words  of  the  Bible 
true  :  "  The  just  shall  live  by  faith  "  ?  ^  Is  not 
justice  the  form  of  the  'pure  reason,'  of  that 
higher  consciousness  which  we  call  faith?  Is 
it  not  true  that  just  as  all  sensuous  apprehen- 
sion is  conditioned  by  space  and  time,  and  all 

1  These  Schopenhauer  has  very  correctly  reduced  to 
the  one  category  of  Cause  or  Causation. 

^  There  are  few  things  in  Hterature  finer  than  his  ac- 
count of  how  he  was  led  to  Truth  by  Justice.  See  my 
translation  of  his  Fragments,  youriial  of  Speculative 
Philosophy,  vol.  iv.  pp.  1-16. 

3  Habb.  ii.  4 ;  Rom.  i.  17 ;  Gal.  iii.  11 ;  Heb.  x.  38,  etc. 


Introduction.  2 1 

understanding  by  cause,  so  all  -pure  reason,' 
or  faith  (Tri'trn?),  is  conditioned  by  justice  or 
righteousness,  taken  in  its  broadest  sense  ? 
And  was  not  Kant  forced  virtually  to  admit 
this,  when  he  came  to  treat  of  ethics  ?  Is  not 
his  '  categorical  imperative : '  '  Act  so  that  the 
maxim  of  thy  will  may  be  accepted  as  the  prin- 
ciple of  universal  legislation,' — z.  mere  awk- 
ward way  of  saying,  "  Justice  is  the  law  of  the 
universe  "'  ?  And,  in  spite  of  this  awkwardness, 
does  not  Kant  find  that  his  maxim  involves 
three  moral  postulates  —  Freedom,  Immortal- 
ity, God?  The  fact  is  that  Kant,  failing  to 
see  that  justice  is  the  form  of  the  pure  reason, 
which  is  essentially  moral,  left  the  form  of  mo- 
rality a  mere  blind  imperative,  and  invented  a 
spurious  faculty,  the  practical  reason,  to  deal 
with  it.  As  a  consequence,  he  was  compelled 
to  leave  the  facts  which  justice  interprets  to 
consciousness  mere  postulates.  Let  us  once 
realize  that  justice  is  the  form  of  reason,  and 
these  facts  will  present  themselves  as  real. 
We  shall  then  find  the  law  of  justice  as  neces- 
sary and  universal  as  the  law  of  cause ;  and 
God  will  be  no  longer  a  postulate,  but  the 
supreme  reality.  This  reality  is  moral  in  its 
nature,  and  can  be  reached  only  through  the 
moral   faculty,  which  is  the   pure   reason,^  or 

1  On  the  error  of   assuming  a   practical   reason,  see 
Rosmini,  Introduction  to  Principles  of  Moral  Science. 


22  Introduction. 


faith,  ill  its  original  sense.  This  being  true, 
all  propositions  explicating  the  form  of  faith 
ought  to  command  our  assent  as  readily  as 
those  explicating  the  forms  of  sense  and  un- 
derstanding. For  example,  the  proposition, 
"The  human  will  is  free,"  should  command  it 
as  certainly  as,  "  Not  more  than  one  straight 
line  can  be  drawn  through  a  given  point  par- 
allel to  another  straight  line,"  or,  "Nothing 
can  act  before  it  is." 

But  it  will  be  said,  We  cannot  help  assent- 
ing to  the  last  two  :  nobody  ever  doubted 
them ;  whereas  we  are  by  no  means  forced  to 
assent  to  the  first.  The  most  obvious  reply 
to  this  is,  that  the  last  two  propositions  have 
both  been  frequently  not  only  doubted,  but 
denied.  Many  modern  geometers  have  denied 
the  first  :  ^  Spinoza  and  Fichte  denied  the 
second.-  But,  after  all.  it  is  true  that  the 
propositions  of  pure  reason  are  doubted  and 
denied  much  more  frequently  than  those  of 
sense  and  understanding;  that  they  do  not  so 
readily  command  assent  as  these.  There  must 
be  some  reason  for  this.     Let  us  consider  it. 

When  we  observe  that  the  propositions  de- 

1  See  Stallo's  Concepts  and  Theories  of  ModcDi  Phys- 
ics, pp.  207  sqq. ;  chap.  xiii. 

2  Spinoza's  Causa  sui,  which  plays  so  prominent  a 
part  in  his  system,  involves  this  denial,  and  Fichte's 
assertion  that  "  the  Ego  originally  absolutely  posits  its 
own  being  "  openly  expresses  it. 


Introduction.  23 

pending  upon  the  forms  of  sense  are  less  fre- 
quently denied  than  those  depending  upon  the 
form  of  the  understanding,  and  this  because 
the  former  are  more  easy  to  grasp  completely 
than  the  latter,  we  ought  to  expect  that  the 
latter  would  be  less  frequently  denied  than 
those  depending  upon  the  form  of  faith.  But 
there  is  another  and  deeper  reason  for  the 
latter  fact.  The  faculty  of  faith  is  much  more 
easily  deranged  and  impaired  in  its  activity 
than  that  of  understanding,  and  requires  more 
careful  training.  It  is  dependent  upon  the 
life  which  a  man  leads,  and  acts  normally 
only  in  the  man  whose  life  is  free  from  stain. 
"  If  any  one  do  His  will,  he  will  know  of  the 
doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God."  The  assent 
which  the  soul  gives  to  the  propositions  of 
faith  is  a  moral  assent,  accorded  by  the  moral 
faculty,  which  cannot  judge  correctly,  unless  it 
has  built  up  for  itself  a  moral  world,  by  right- 
eous action.  Each  human  being  has  his  own 
world,  built  up  through  his  own  faculties.  His 
sensuous  world  is  built  up  through  sense  and 
its  forms ;  his  intelligible  world  through  un- 
derstanding and  its  form ;  his  moral  world 
through  faith  and  its  form  —  justice.  If  a 
man  has  built  up  no  moral  world  for  himself 
by  just  action,  how  can  he  discover  the  prin- 
ciple of  that  world,  the  absolute  Justice,  or 
God,  or  how  can  he  find  a  fit  symbol  for  the 


24  lHtroductio)L 

same  in  either  understanding  or  sense?  There 
is  no  knowledge  without  experience. 

There  is  a  third  reason  why  the  assent  of 
the  mind  is  given  with  some  hesitancy  to  the 
objects  of  faith,  and  this  is,  because  for  ages 
this  assent  has  been  demanded,  and  under 
wrong  influences  given,  to  many  propositions 
that  are  not  based  upon  justice  at  all,  but 
upon  mere  fancy  and  credulity.  In  rejecting 
these  propositions,  the  reason  has  also  re- 
jected those  that  are  founded  on  justice.  As 
in  every  case,  by  forcing  a  faculty  to  do  some- 
thing unnatural,  w^e  have  unfitted  it  for  per- 
forming its  proper  function.  In  attempting  to 
believe  myths,  we  have  ceased  to  be  able  to 
believe  the  truth.  But,  as  Lowell  says,  "  the 
soul  is  still  oracular,"  and  when  its  deeds  are 
pure,  it  will  find  fitting  symbols  for  the  Infinite 
Justice. 

The  result  of  all  these  drawbacks  is,  that 
the  moral  assent,  which,  conditioned  by  jus- 
tice, affirms  God,  Freedom,  and  Immortality,  is 
given  feebly  and  falteringly,  and,  in  hours  of 
spiritual  darkness,  withheld  altogether.  Hence 
Tennyson  calls  upon  his  friend  to  be  near  him 
when  his  "light  is  low,'"  and  when  his  "faith 
is  dry,"  and,  at  the  very  last,  he  speaks  of  the 
objects  of  faith  as  "truths  that  never  can  be 
proved,"  until  men  return  to  the  bosom  of 
God.     This  only  means  that  the  poet,  not  re- 


Introduction.  25 

garding  the  response  of  the  moral  nature, 
whose  form  is  justice,  as  final  and  sufficient, 
looks  for  a  response  from  the  understanding, 
to  which  the  things  of  reason  can  appear  only 
in  the  form  of  symbols,  or,  as  Henry  George 
so  admirably  puts  it,  "  a  shadowy  gleam  of 
ultimate  relations,  the  endeavor  to  express 
which  inevitably  falls  into  type  and  allegory." 
But  such  a  response  can  never  be  given,  in 
this  world  or  any  other ;  for  the  response  of 
the  soul  to  the  Infinite  Justice  is  not  com- 
manded by  knowledge,  but  by  blessedness. 
Dante  knows  that  he  has  seen  God  only  be- 
cause, in  saying  so,  he  feels  that  he  is  filled 
with  larger  bliss. ^  We  are  mistaken  when  we 
think  that  understanding  is  the  highest  faculty 
of  the  soul,  or  certifies  to  the  deepest  realities. 
Above  it  is  that  faculty  which  the  understand- 
ing cannot  even  define,  but  which  it  compares 
to  the  confidence  reposed  in  a  true  and  tried 
friend  and  calls  faith,  and  which  is  the  human 
refiex  of  the  Divine  Wisdom,  man's  conscious- 
ness of  the  Infinite  and  his  oneness  therewith. 

'  "  La  forma  universal  di  questo  nodo 
Credo  ch'  io  vidi,  perche  piu  di  largo, 
Dicendo  questo,  mi  sento  ch'  io  godo." 

Parad.,  xxxiii.  91  sgg. 


CHAPTER   I. 

(i-viii.) 

The  poet  justifies  his  grief,  describes  its  effects, 
explains  why  he  writes  of  it,  refuses  cheap 
consolation,  and  seeks  only  to  embalm  the  past. 

The  earliest  expression  Avhich  Tennyson 
gave  to  his  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  friend  is 
the  exquisite  lyric,  "  Break,  break,  break,"  in 
which  he  makes  us  feel  that  his  soul  is  utterly 
out  of  harmony  with  the  world,  that  its  light  is 
gone,  that  only  darkness  and  despair  are  left. 

In  Memoria7n  opens  in  a  somewhat  less  de- 
spairing tone.  Numb,  voiceless  grief  has  given 
place  to  sorrow  mingled  with  reflection.  The 
poet  finds  it  necessary  even  to  justify  his  grief 
to  himself.  He  might,  by  treading 
down  his  past  self,  that  moral  world 
whose  light  was  his  friend,  rise  to  higher 
things.  He  formerly  believed  such  a  course 
possible  ;  but  now  he  cannot  realize  it.  The 
world  of  his  past  is  the  only  one  wherein  his 
soul  is  at  home.  Better  a  world  with  love 
clasping  grief  than  a  world  without  love.  The 
constancy  of  our  love  is  the  measure  of  our 
worth. 


28  ///  Meinoriavi. 

But  sorrow  is  deadening.     In  clinging  to  his 
dead  past,  he  feels  like  the  yew  tree 
that  grasps    at   tombstones,   "whose 
fibres   knit   the   dreamless   head "   below.     A 
"  thousand  years  of  gloom  "  have   settled  on 
him,  and  in  that  gloom,  Sorrow  whispers  des- 
olating  doubts,   suggesting  that   the 

III  »»         & 

whole  universe  may  be  a  mere  mock- 
ery, "signifying  nothing."     Such  doubts  para- 
lyze the  will,  and  send  all  the  powers 

IV  .  .  , . 

to   sleep.     The   poet  sits  "withm   a 

helmless  bark" ;  his  life  has  lost  direction. 
His  very  heart  beats  sluggishly  for  want  of  de- 
sire or  motive,  and  he  scarcely  has  courage  to 
ask  why,  or  warmth  to  melt  the  tears  that  have 
frozen  at  their  springs.  Only  at  morning  the 
will  shows  a  little  strength,  and  struggles  not 
to  be  "  the  fool  of  loss."  He  then  seeks  to 
relieve  his  torpor  by  putting  his  grief  in  words ; 
but  this  seems  almost  a  sin,  all  words 

V 

are  so  superficial  and  inadequate. 
Still,  since  the  "  sad  mechanic  exercise "  of 
writing  verses  acts  like  a  narcotic,  "  numbing 
pain,"  he  will  go  on  writing,  in  order  to  shield 
himself  from  cold  despair.  This  method  of 
numbing  pain  is,  indeed,  his  only  refuge ;  ac- 
ceptance is  out  of  the  question.     Friends  try 

to    console    him   by   reminding   him 

VI  y  o 

that  ''loss  is  common  to  the  race"; 
but  such  comfort  is  mere  chaff.    The  common- 


Hopeless  Grief.  29 

ness  of  loss  does  not  make  it  less  bitter  in  any 
one  case.  The  pathos,  the  awfulness,  the 
surprise  of  death  remain  forever  the  same. 
Nothing  can  fill  the  blank  made  by  the  loss  of 
the  beloved  friend.  So  the  poet  turns  back  to 
the  now  darkened  world  of  the  past, 
visits  the  scenes  where  he  and  his 
friend  have  been  happy  together,  and  finds  a 
little  comfort  in  continuing  the  art  of 

.  .  VIII. 

poetry  which  they  had  cultivated  in 
common,  and  in  consecrating  it  to  the  memory 
of  the  departed.     Its  chief  worth  now  is  that 
it   pleased   him,    and   serves    to    embalm   his 
memory. 


CHAPTER    II. 

(ix-xxi.) 

The  circumstances  of  the  frientVs  death,  the  re- 
turn of  the  body  to  England,  and  its  burial. 

After  the  alleviation  derived  from  writing 
verses  to  the  memory  of  his  friend, 
the  next  thing  that  comforts  the  poet 
is  the  return  of  the  friend's  body  to  England 
and  its  burial  in  English  soil.     He  prays  for 
every  blessing  upon  the   ship  that  bears  his 
"  lost  Arthur's  loved  remains."     In   imagina- 
tion he  follows  it  day  and  night  on 
its  voyage,  like  a  guardian  angel,  lest 
anything  should  befall  it,  and  the  remains  be 
lost.     Under    the    influence    of    the 

XI. 

soothing  autumn  weather,  he  feels  a 

certain  calm  ;  but  it  is  only  the  calm  of  despair,^ 

and  even  that  does  not  last.     Impa- 

XII 

tience  drives  him  to  meet  the  ship, 
which  brings  but  death  instead  of  life,  cause 
for  tears  instead  of  for  joy.     So  strange  is  it 

1  Compare  the  lines  of  Burns  : 

"  Come,  Autumn,  sae  pensive  in  yellow  and  grey, 
And  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o"  nature's  decay; 
The  dark,  dreary  winter  an'  wild  drivin'  sna' 
Alaiie  can  delight  me—  my  Nannie's  awa."' 


Dust  to  Dust.  3 1 

that  the  body  should  return  without   the   in- 
forming spirit,  that  he  seems  to  "  suf- 
fer in  a  dream,"  so  that  his  "eyes 
have   leisure   for  their  tears,"  and   his  fancy 
for   play.     But,    if    the    ship    should 

XIV 

bring  the  living  instead  of  the  dead 

friend,  he  would  not  be  surprised,  so  little  has 

he   yet   realized   the   thought  of   his 

XV 

death.  The  approach  of  tempestu- 
ous winter  changes  the  "  calm  despair "  of 
the  poet's  soul  into  a  "wild  unrest,"  which 
would  be  overwhelming,  were  it  not  for  the 
fancy  that  the  ship  bearing  his  friend's  body 
is  peacefully  sailing  "  athwart  a  plane  of 
molten   glass.""     Such    chansfe    from 

XVI 

one  extreme  to  the  other  seems  sur- 
prising, and  the  poet  can  account  for  it  only 
by  supposing  that  it  is  unreal,  or  else  that  sor- 
row has  utterly  unhinged  him,  stunned  him, 
and  made  him  delirious.  In  any  case,  life  has 
become  confused  and  purposeless.  At  last  the 
ship  arrives,  bringing  the  remains  in  safety, 
and  the  poet   once    more   prays   for 

XVII 

every  blessing  henceforth  to  accom- 
pany it  for  such  kind   service.     Then  the  fu- 
neral takes  place.  Hallam  is  buried  in 

XVIII 

Clevedon  church,  in    Somersetshire ; 

in  a  "  still  and  sequestered  situation,  on  a  lone 

hill  that  overhangs  the  Bristol  Chan- 

xi.x 
nel,"'    "  and    in    the    hearing   of    the 


32  In  Mevioriam. 

wave."^     This  brings  the  mourner  some  sUght 
comfort. 

"  'T  is  well ;  't  is  something  ;  we  may  stand 
Where  he  in  English  earth  is  laid, 
And  from  his  ashes  may  be  made 
The  violet  of  his  native  land." 

His  grief  now  ebbs  and  flows,  like  the  tides  ; 
it  is  no  longer  a  changeless  flood.  During  the 
ebbs  —  which  bear  the  same  relation  to  the 
flows  as  the  grief  of  servants  to  that  of  chil- 
dren in  a  house  "  where  lies  the  mas- 

XX 

ter  newly  dead  "  —  he  can  speak.    At 

other  times,  the  words  die  on  his  lips,  for  grief 

that  may  not  be  spoken.     Such  grief  the  world 

does  not  understand,  but  looks  upon  as  mere 

subtle  vanity,  as  waste  of  energy  that 
XXI  .  . 

might  be  employed  in  some  practical 

or  scientific  pursuit,  which  alone  it  can  appre- 
ciate.    The  poet  can  only  reply : 

"Behold,  ye  speak  an  idle  thing  : 
Ye  never  knew  the  sacred  dust : 
I  do  but  sing  because  I  must, 
And  pipe  but  as  the  linnets  sing."  - 

1  The  funeral  took  place  on  3d  January,  1S34,  the 
death  on  the  1 5th  September  previous. 

2  Compare  Goethe's  lines  : 

"  Ich  singe,  wie  der  Vogel  singt 
Der  in  den  Zweigen  wohnet ; 
Das  Lied,  das  aus  der  Kehle  dringt, 
1st  Lohn,  der  reichlich  lohnet." 

Meister^s  Lehrjahre,  11.  ii. 


CHAPTER   III. 

(xxii-xxvii.) 

The  friendship  for  the  dead.  Its  reality  and 
blessedness.  Not  to  be  quenched  by  time  or 
sorrow. 

Yea,   the   poet  has   good  cause  to  mourn. 
His  loss  is  incalculable.     The  friend- 

,    ,       .  ,    ,  ,         ,         XXII. 

ship  so  rudely  interrupted  by  death 
was  the  very  light  of  his  life  for  four  years, 
years  full  of  pure  happiness  and  lofty 
endeavor.     Between    these    and    the 
darkened  present  what  a  contrast !     And  here 
a  question  arises  in  the  poet's  mind, 
•whether  it  is  not   just  this  contrast 
that  makes  the  years  of  friendship   seem  so 
perfect ;    but   his   consciousness    an- 
swers promptly  and  affirms,   "  I  know 
that  this  was  Life "  ;  for  it  is  love  that  gives 
life   its   value.       He   will,    therefore, 
cling  to  that  Life  with  its  Love,  what- 
ever sorrow  may  now  overhang  it,  "  whatever 
fickle  tongues  may  say."    Better  that  he  should 
die,  than  that  love  should  perish  and  become 
indifference.     Better  deep  feeling  and  passion, 


34  III  Memoriani. 

with  all  the  pain  that  may  come  of  them,  than 
the  calm  of  a  sluggish,  indifferent 
heart. 


XXVII. 


"  I  hold  it  true,  whate'er  befall ; 
I  feel  it,  when  I  sorrow  most ; 
'T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all."  i 

1  Compare  Goethe's  lines,  Faiist,  Pt.  II.  vv.  1659-60: 
"  Doch  im  Erstarren  such'  ich  nicht  mein  Heil, 
Das  Schaudern  ist  der  Menschheit  bestes  Theil." 

and  vv.  2S47-8  : 

"  Geheilt  will  ich  nicht  sein !  mein  Sinn  ist  machtig  ! 
Da  war  ich  ja  wie  andre  niedertrachtig." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

(xxviii-xxxvii.) 

Turning  from  the  past  to  the  future.  The  im- 
mortality of  the  soul.  The  hope  coming  f-om 
revelation  cofijirmed  by  reason.  Reason  and 
Revelation. 

At  this  point  the  poet  begins  to  take  some 
interest  in  the  affairs  of  life,  and  to  turn  from 
the  past  to  the  future.  Christmas  has  come, 
with  its  merry  bells  proclaiming  "  peace  and 
goodwill  to  all  mankind  "  and  bringing  him 
"sorrow  touched  with  joy,"^  joy  engendered 
by  hope.     In  spite  of  the  grief  that 

^  .  .  XXVIII. 

lies  over  the  house,  and  in  which  even 
the  skies  seem  to  participate,  the  old  Christ- 
mas formalities  and  pastimes  are  kept 

XXIX 

up.      But   the   gladness    which    such 
things  are  meant  to  attest  comes  not,  only 

"  an  awful  sense 
Of  one  mute  Shadow,  watching  all." 

Under  the  influence  of  this  felt  pres- 

XXX. 

ence  of   the  loved  and  lost,  the  be- 

1  Compare  with  this  the  effect  of  the  Easter  bells 
upon  Faust,  in  bringing  him  back  to  hope  and  prevent- 
ing suicide.     Goethe's  Fatist,  Ft.  I. 


36  hi  Memoriain. 

reaved  take  each  other's  hands  and,  with  tear- 
bedimmed  eyes  and  echo-like  voices,  sing  im- 
petuously a  merry  song  they  sang  with  him 
shortly  before  his  death.  But  the  invisible 
presence  and  the  Christmas  season  bring  a 
more  solemn  and  a  more  hopeful  feeling,  un- 
der the  inspiration  of  which  they  sing  with  as- 
surance of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the 
"  keen  seraphic  fiame,"  and  encourage  each 
other  to  hope. 

"  They  do  not  die 
Nor  lose  their  mortal  sympathy, 
Nor  change  to  us,  although  they  change. 

"  Rapt  from  the  fickle  and  the  frail 
With  gather'd  power,  yet  tlie  same, 
Pierces  the  keen  seraphic  flame 
From  orb  to  orb,  from  veil  to  veil." 

The  hope  offered  by  the  Christian  revelation 
recalls  the  story  of  Lazarus,  and  the 

XXXI.  . 

poet  wonders  why,  if  he  was  really 
dead  and  restored  to  life,  we  are  not  told  what 
he  had  to  relate  of  the  life  beyond  the  grave. 
He  concludes : 

"  He  told  it  not ;  or  something  seal'd 
The  lips  of  that  Evangelist." 

His  sister,  Mary,  would  have  all  curiosity  on 
the  subject  quenched  by  joy,  love,  and 
reverence,    feelin<];s   far   higher   than 
"curious  fears,"  which  come  only  to  the  un- 
happy. 


Comfort  from  Revelation.  37 

"  Thrice  blest  whose  lives  are  faithful  prayers, 
Whose  loves  in  higher  love  endure  ; 
What  souls  possess  themselves  so  pure, 
Or  is  there  blessedness  like  theirs  ? " 

And  this  leads  the  poet  to  warn  those  who, 
after  much  battUng  with  doubt  and 

.         ,  ,  XXXIII. 

difficulty,  have  attained  a  purely  ra- 
tional faith,  that 

"  has  centre  everywhere 
Nor  cares  to  fix  itself  to  form," 

not  to  disturb  the  faith-through-form  of  their 
sisters,  of  those  simple  souls,  who  are  made 
happy  and  eager  for  good  by  their  childhood's 
beliefs.  A  second  conscience,  in  the  form  of 
an  external  ideal,  is  a  valuable  and  often  need- 
ful addition  to  "the  law  within,"  "in  a  world 
of  sin." 

But,  after  all,  it   ought   not   to   require  any 
revealed,   supernatural  proof   to  con- 

r  ,  ,,  •  ,■  XXXIV. 

vince  us  of  the  soul  s  immortality. 
The  very  dimness  and  imperfection  of  our 
lives  here,  compared  with  the  perfection  we 
imagine  and  aspire  to,  ought  to  suffice.  If 
those  ideals  and  aspirations  which  give  life  its 
meaning  are  but  delusions,  then  all  is  vain,  the 
universe  a  mockery,  justice  a  cruel  chimera, 
and  God  a  lie.     Then 

"  'T  were  best  at  once  to  sink  to  peace, 

Like  birds  the  charming  serpent  draws, 
To  drop  head-foremost  in  the  jaws 
Of  vacant  darkness  and  to  cease." 


38  In  Menioriam. 

Notwithstanding  this  verdict  of  the  reason, 
the   poet  is   willing  to   consider  the 

XXXV. 

case  so  often  put  by  those  who  can- 
not see  their  way  to  belief  in  immortality : 
Supposing  by  some  inconceivable  means  we 
could  be  convinced  that  death  ends  all,  would 
it  not  still  be  worth  while,  for  the  sake  of 
the  sweetness  of  love,  to  cling  to  this  life  ?  Is 
not  human  life  worth  living  for  its  own  sake  ? 
He  replies  in  the  negative,  for  the  reason  that 
the  very  sweetness  and  worth  of  love  are  due 
to  the  feeling  that  it  is  divine  and  eternal. 
Take  away  this  feeling,  convince  men  that  the 
world  is  governed  by  brute  force,  not  by  love, 
and  love  will  lose  its  sweetness,  and  die  from 
fear  of  death.     The  case  is  an  idle  one. 

"  If  Death  were  seen 
At  first  as  Death,  Love  had  not  been, 
Or  been  in  narrowest  working  shut, 

"Mere  fellowship  of  sluggish  moods. 
Or  in  its  coarsest  Satyr-shape 
Had  bruised  the  herb  and  crush'd  the  grape 
And  bask'd  and  batten'd  in  the  woods." 

In  a  word,  love  unglorified  by  the  feeling  of 
immortality  would  sink  down  into  mere  brute 
passion.  Hence,  unless  life  be  immortal,  it 
contains  nothing  to  make  it  worth  living. 

Many  persons  at  the  present  day  will,  no 
doubt,  question  the  justice  of  this  conclusion, 
and    agree  with  Goethe  that  "existence   is   a 


Reason  attests  Ijuuiortality.  39 

duty,  were  it  but  for  a  moment."  Indeed,  it 
seems  to  be  the  tendency  of  thought  at  the 
present  moment  to  find  a  satisfactory  formula, 
that  is,  a  moral  and  religious  motive,  for  this 
life,  without  any  reference  whatever  to  a  life 
beyond.  That  life  without  such  reference 
could  and  would  be,  nay,  has  been,  lived,  is 
certain ;  but  whether  it  could  long  so  main- 
tain itself  on  moral  heights,  whether,  indeed, 
there  is  any  satisfactory  moral  formula  for 
such  a  life,  seems  to  me  very  questionable. 
One  thing  is  certain :  no  such  formula  has 
been  found,  and  the  evident  failure  of  the 
numerous  quests  recently  made  points  to  the 
conclusion  that  probably  none  can  be  found. 

Although  our  human  reason,  when  subtly 
questioned,  is  sufficient  to  reveal  to  us  God, 
Freedom,  and  Immortality, 

"  Tho'  truths  in  manhood  darkly  join, 
Deep-seated  in  our  mystic  frame," 

this  fact  does  not  remove  the  necessity  for  an- 
other revelation,  suited  to  those  minds  which 
are  incapable  of  such  subtle  question- 

XXXVI 

mg.    Hence  the  value  of  the  Christian 
mythus,  that  "truth  embodied  in  a  tale."     It 
can  "enter  in  at  lowly  doors,"  which  would  be 
barred  against  "  truth  in  closest  words." 

But,  in  speaking  thus  of  Christianity,  as  a 
sort  of  "  Picture- Writing  to  assist  the  weaker 


40  In  Memoriam. 

faculty,"^  the  poet  feels  that  he  has  broached 

a   delicate    subject.     The    heavenly    Muse    of 

revelation  (Urania)  reproves  him  sharply,  and 

tells  him   to    confine   himself   to   his 

XXXVII 

'  own  pagan  sphere.  His  pagan  Muse 
(Melpomene)  replies  meekly,  confesses  her  un- 
worthiness,  and  pleads  for  indulgence  on  ac- 
count of  her  need  for  comfort. 

"  I  murmur'd  as  I  came  along, 

Of  comfort  clasp'd  in  truth  reveal'd, 
And  loiter'd  in  the  master's  field, 
And  darken'd  sanctities  with  song." 

1  Carlyle,  Sartor  Resartus,  Bk.  II.  chap.  ix. 


CHAPTER   V. 

(xxxviii-xlviii.) 

The  simple  conviction  of  ifnmortalify  does  not 
satisfy  the  heart,  which  desires  to  realize  im- 
77wrtal  life  and  commimicate  with  the  departed. 
Metempsychosis. 

Though  convinced  by  reason,  confirmed  by 
revelation,  that  life  is  immortal,  and  that  his 
friend  still  exists,  the  poet  yet  finds  his  heart 
unsatisfied.  The  want  of  power  to  realize  his 
friend's  condition,  or  to  establish  any  form  of 
communication  with  him.,  leaves  therein  a 
weary,  aching,  dark,  paralyzing  void,  lighted 
only  by  the  doubtful  gleam  coming  from  the 
songs  which  he  loves  to  sing,  and  which,  he 
hopes,  by  pleasing  the  departed,  may 
hold  his  attention.  And  so  the  for- 
mer darkness,  after  being  slightly  dissipated, 
returns.  The  gloom  of  the  old  stone-grasping, 
skull-knitting  yew,  into  which,  through  numb- 
ing sorrow,  he  had  grown  "incorporate,"  (ii.) 

XXXIX 

"  is  kindled  at  the  tips, 

And  passes  into  gloom  again." 
Such,   at   least,   is   the  whisper  of    Sorrow. 


42  /;/  Memoriain. 

But  the  poet  is  aware  that  she  lies,  and  em- 
ploys his  fancy  in  trying  to  realize  the  condi- 
tion of  the  spirit  of  his  friend.  He  would  fain 
think  of  it  as  a  bride,  that  has  left  a  loving 
father's  house  to  go  to  a  home  full 

XL 

of  new  love  and  new  hopes,  and  in 
some  respects  the  comparison  answers ;  but 
alas !  the  difference  is  too  palpable.  The 
bride  will  from  time  to  time  return  to  gladden 
the  scenes  of  her  maidenhood,  "And  bring 
her  babe,  and  make  her  boast ;  " 

"  But  thou  and  I  have  shaken  hands, 
Till  growing  winters  lay  me  low; 
My  paths  are  in  the  fields  I  know. 
And  thine  in  undiscover'd  lands." 

Feeling  the  failure  of  this  attempt,  the  poet 
tries  to  conceive    an  act  of   will   by 

XLI 

which  he  should  be  able 

"  To  leap  the  grades  of  life  and  light 
And  flash  at  once  " 

upon  his  friend.  But  this  is  folly.  He  can- 
not reach  him,  and  at  times  there  comes  upon 
him  a  chilling,  "  spectral  doubt  "  that  he  shall 
never  reach  him,  but  be  "evermore  a  life 
behind,"  the  difference  in  their  grade  of  spir- 
itual development  holding  them,  like  gravita- 
tion, in  different  spheres.  But  this  he  recog- 
nizes to  be   a   foolish   fancy.     Such 

XLI  I 

difference  does  not  confine  souls  to 
different  spheres,  else  he  and  his  friend,  who 


Views  of  Inimortality.  43 

was  so  much  his  superior,  could  never  have 
walked  upon  the  same  earth.  And  so  he  may 
hope  to  overtake  his  friend,  and  learn  from  him 
the  results  of  his  spiritual  experience.^ 

"And  what  delights  can  equal  those 
That  stir  the  spirit's  inner  deeps, 
When  one  that  loves  but  knows  not,  reaps 
A  truth  from  one  that  loves  and  knows  ?  " 

Thus  far  the  poet  has  considered  only  the 
Christian  view  of  immortality,  which  holds  that 
the  soul  is  created  by  God  at  the  birth  of  the 
body,  is  incarnated  but  once,  and,  after  one 
probation,  passes  to  a  condition  unalterable 
for  all  eternity.  But  other  views  of  immor- 
tality have  been  held.  Among  the  most  com- 
mon of  these  is  metempsychosis,  or  the  belief 
that  every  soul  is  everlasting,  and  is,  or  may 
be,  incarnated  an  indefinite  number  of  times. 
Of  this  there  are  two  chief  forms,  the  Greek 
and  the  Buddhistic.  To  these  the  poet  now 
turns. 

If  the  soul  is  incarnated  many  times,  then 
death    is   but  a   longer   and    deeper 

XLIII. 

sleep,  and  life    and   death    alternate 

like  waking  and  sleeping.     During  death,  the 

^  Compare  the  opposite  view,  Goethe,  Faust,  Pt.  II. 
vv.  7467  sqq. 

"  Wir  warden  friih  entfemt 
Von  Lebechoren  ; 
Doch  dieser  hat  gelernt, 
Er  wird  uns  lehren." 


44  I^^  McDtoriam. 

disembodied  spirit,  though  unconscious,  re- 
tains, in  latent  form,  all  the  impressions  and 
experience  of  all  its  past  lives,  and  thus  the 
entire  experience  of  the  world  is  treasured  up, 
unimpaired,  in  "that  still  garden  of  the  souls." 
In  this  case  also  the  poet  may  expect  in  an- 
other life  to  know  and  love  his  friend,  and  to 
be  known  and  loved  by  him. 

But,  if  our  present  life  is  only  one  of  many 
lives,  past  and  to  come,  does  not  the  fact  that 
we  have  now  no  remembrance  of  any  past  life 
raise  a  presumption  that  those  who  pass  into 
another  life  will  have  no  remembrance  of  what 

happened  in  this,  but  will  have  to  be- 
XLIV.        .  .  ,  ,  .,  , 

gm  existence  there  as  children  with- 
out experience  ?  But  the  poet  doubts  whether 
man  has  not  even  in  this  life  some  dim  recol- 
lections of  past  lives  : 

"  perhaps  the  hoarding  sense 
Gives  out  at  times  (he  knows  not  whence) 
A  little  flash,  a  mystic  hint."  i 

So,  in  the  higher  life,  there  may  come  to  his 
friend  "  some  dim  touch  of  earthly  things," 
and  the  poet  begs  : 

1  Pythagoras,  the  founder  of  the  Greek  doctrine  of 
metempsychosis,  is  said  to  have  remembered  all  his  past 
lives,  to  have  recognized  on  the  door  of  a  temple  the 
shield  which,  as  Euphorbos,  he  wore  in  the  Trojan  war, 
and  to  have  discovered  the  soul  of  an  old  friend  in  a 
dog  that  some  one  was  whipping.  There  are  some  facts 
in  our  psychic  life  which  certainly  suggest  the  thought 
of  lives  previous  to  this. 


MctempsycJiosis.  45 

"  If  such  a  dreamy  touch  should  fall, 

O  turn  thee  round,  resolve  the  doubt ; 
Mv  guardian  angel  will  speak  out 
In  that  high  place,  and  tell  thee  all." 

But,  after  all,  this  may  be  our  first  conscious 
life,  for  which  the  others  were  mere  prepara- 
tions. Indeed,  the  very  purpose  of 
this  embodiment  of  ours  may  be  to 
render  us  conscious  of  our  own  individuality, 
our  separateness  from  the  great  universe  of 
being,  our  identity,  which  is  a  matter  of  mem- 
ory ;  and  this  consciousness,  once  gained,  may 
be  eternal.  Incarnation  would  seem  useless, 
if,  at  the  dissolution  of  the  body,  man  lost  his 
individuality  and  identity,  and  had  to  acquire 
them  afresh  in  each  new  life.  But,  granting 
that  in  the  next  life  w'e  shall  retain  the  con- 
sciousness of  our  identity  gained  here,  it  does 
not  follow  that  we  shall  remember  the  events  of 
this  life  with  any  clearness,  since  we  observe 
that,  in  proportion  as  we  grow  older  here,  we 
forget  the  events  of  our  earlier  life,  its  sorrows 
and  ioys,  '"  thorn  and  flower."     Were 

.  XLVI. 

it  not  so,  life  would  "fail  in  looking 
back ;  "  that  is,  it  would  take  a  life-time  to  re- 
call the  events  of  a  life-time.  But  these  facts 
are  all  due  to  the  form  of  time,  or  succession, 
under  which  we  think.  In  the  higher  life,  in 
which  spirits  will  think  under  the  form  of 
eternity  (sub  specie  cBternitatis),  an  all-embra- 
cing present  without  past  or  future, 


46  In  Menioriain. 

"  clear  from  marge  to  marge  shall  bloom 
The  eternal  landscape  of  the  past." 

In  that  landscape  the  years  of  friendship  will 
seem  the  richest  field,  but  may  shed  their  ra- 
diance on  the  whole. 

The  Buddhistic  notion,  that  at  death  the  in- 
dividual soul  loses  its  identity,  "  remerging  in 
the  general  Soul,  is  faith  as  vague  as  all  un- 

sweet."     It  satisfies  neither  head  nor 
XLVII.     ,  ^  ,  ,  ,        ^    ^    . 

heart.     It   teaches   that   the   Infinite 

and  Absolute  Being  is  utterly  without  form 
or  determination,  and  all  forms,  or  individuals, 
appearing  in  the  universe  are  mere  temporary 
illusions.  This  doctrine,  which  leads  men  to 
seek  the  annihilation  of  Self,  as  a  deluding 
phantasm,  has  several  times  tried  to  insinu- 
ate itself  into  Western  thought ;  for  example, 
through  the  Arabs  in  the  twelfth  century,  and 
at  present,  in  the  form  of  Monism,  and  as  the 
outcome  of  physical  science.  Indeed,  in  all 
cases,  the  doctrine  has  its  origin  in  thought 
carried  on  in  terms  of  physics.  Against  it  the 
Church,  holding  fast  to  the  Aristotelian  doc- 
trine of  the  eternity  of  forms, ^  has  always  ex- 
erted herself  to  the  utmost,  and  for  a  very  good 
reason.  Since,  in  mediaeval  terminology,  the 
rational  or  intellective  soul  is  the  "  substantial 

1  Metaphys.,  vi.  8  :  lojji^  5  sqq.,  i6  sqq.  Cf.  Thomas 
Aquinas,  QucEst.  Qtiodlib.,  ix.  art.  11. 


Metempsychosis.  47 

form  "  of  the  body/  if  forms  are  not  eternal, 
then  the  soul  is  not  immortal.  We  might  al- 
most say  that  herein  lies  the  fundamental  dis- 
tinction between  the  thought  of  the  East  and 
that  of  the  West.  True  to  the  latter,  the  poet 
exclaims  : 

"  Eternal  form  shall  still  divide 
The  eternal  soul  from  all  beside, 
And  I  shall  know  him  when  we  meet." 

In  the  spiritual  world  there  will  still  be  distinc- 
tion of  persons,  still  fellowship,  still  love ;  and 
however  far  isolation  may  be  lost,  as  souls 
enter  into  closer  union,  it  will  be  lost  in  light, 
not  in  darkness,  in  nirvana.^  As  St.  Bernard 
puts  it :  '•  The  substance  (of  the  individual) 
will  remain,   but  in   other  form,   other  glory, 

1  This  was  laid  down  expressly,  as  a  dogma  of  the 
Church,  in  the  Council  of  Vienne  (131 1),  in  this  wise: 
"  Doctrinam  omnem,  seu  positionem  temere  asserentem 
aut  vertentem  in  dubium  quod  substantia  animae  ration- 
alis  aut  intellectivae  vere  ac  per  se  humani  corporis  non 
sit  forma,  velut  erroneam,  et  veritati  Catholicae  fidei  in- 
imicam,  Sacro  approbante  Concilio,  reprobamus  :  defi- 
nientes  ut  si  quisquam  deinceps  asserere,  defendere,  seu 
tenere  pertinaciter  praesumpserit,  quod  Anima  rationalis 
seu  intellectiva  non  est  forma  corporis  humani  per  se  et 
essentialiter,  tanquam  hasreticus  sit  censendus."  This 
was  even  more  strongly  expressed  by  the  Lateran  Coun- 
cil (1515). 

-  iVirvdna  means  "  the  blowing  out,  the  extinction  of 
light."  See  Max  Miiller,  Chips  from  a  German  Work- 
shop, i.   276. 


48  In  Memoriam, 

other  power.  ...  So  to  be  affected  is  to  be 
deified."  ^ 

In  closing  this  section  of  his  poem,  the  au- 
thor begs  his  readers   not  to  look  upon   his 

"brief   lays    of    Sorrow  born,"  as    if 
XLVIII.     ,  .       ,     ,    ^    .  '. 

they  contamed    definite   solutions  of 

the  profound  problems  touched  upon  in  them. 

Sorrow  aspires  to  nothing  so  lofty  : 

"  Her  care  is  not  to  part  and  prove, 

She  takes,  when  harsher  moods  remit, 
What  slender  shade  of  doubt  may  flit, 
And  makes  it  vassal  unto  love." 

^  "  Manebit  quidem  substantia,  sed  in  alia  forma,  alia 
gloria,  alia  potentia.  .  .  .  Sic  affici  est  deificari."  De 
diligendo  Deo.,  x.    28. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

(xlix-lviii.) 

More  pfoblems.    The  probletn  of  Evil  and  Death. 
The  co7iflict  of  Nature  aJid  Faith. 

The  poet  resolves  to  continue  his  treatment 
of  all  the  doubts,  hints,  and  fancies  that  rise, 
like  ripples  on  the  great,  ever-deepening  ocean 
of  sorrow,  and  catch  broken  gleams  from  all 
directions,    "  From   art,  from  nature, 

XLIX. 

from    the    schools."      Before   under- 
taking this  work,  he  offers  a  kind  of  prayer  to 
the  spirit  of  his  friend,  begging  it  to  be  near 
him  at  all   times,  when   his  spiritual 
powers  are  low  or  confused,  to  ward 
off  depression,  despair,  and  cynicism,  and  also 
in  old  age  and  death  : 

"  Be  near  me  when  I  fade  away, 

To  point  the  term  of  human  strife, 
And  on  the  low  dark  verge  of  life 
The  twilight  of  eternal  day." 

But  here  a  doubt  springs  up  :    Do  we  really 
wish  that  the  spirits  of  our  friends 
should  stand  by  us  and  look  into  our 
inmost  thoughts  ? 

"  Is  there  no  baseness  we  would  hide .' 
No  inner  vileness  that  we  dread  ? " 


50  In  Menioriam. 

But  this  doubt  vanishes  when  he  thinks  of  the 
majesty  of  death : 

"  There  must  be  wisdom  with  great  Death, 
The  dead  shall  look  me  thro'  and  thro'." 

Still,   although    the  dead   see   "  with  larger 

other  eyes  than  ours,"  they  must  see  defects 

in  us.     These  exist,  however  high  our  inner  or 

outer  ideal  may  be.     The  poet  complains  that 

the  living  ideal  which  he  had  found 

LII 

in  his  friend  does  not  suffice  to  draw 
him  up  to  its  height.  But  the  same  is  true  of 
all  ideals,  even  the  Christian  one, 

"  the  sinless  years 
That  breathed  beneath  the  Syrian  blue." 

A  man  must  not  fret,  therefore, 

"  That  life  is  dash'd  with  flecks  of  sin," 

but  try  to  offset  the  evil  in  him  by  a  strong, 
steady  endeavor  after  virtue,  so  that  in  the 
end, 

"  When  Time  hath  sunder'd  shell  from  pearl," 
he  may  have  a  "  wealth  "  of  good  to  his  credit. 
This  suggests  the  whole  question  of  the 
function  of  evil  in  the  world,  a  question  which 
faith  finds  extremely  baffling.  How  can  we 
reconcile  the  existence  of  evil  and  pain  with 
divine  goodness  ?  Is  evil  ultimate,  essential, 
and  eternal,  or  is  it  only  a  passing  phenome- 
non, necessary  to  emphasize  the  good  and  to 
develop  free  will  ?     Is  there  an  eternal  hell,  or 


Function  of  Evil.  51 

only  a  temporary  purgatory  ?  These  are  ques- 
tions that  try  men's  souls.  The  modern  mind 
finds  it  hard  to  entertain  the  ordinary  Chris- 
tian belief  that  evil  is  eternal,  and  tends  more 
and  more  to  regard  it  as  good  in  disguise. 
This  was  Goethe's  view.  Mephistopheles  is 
made  to  say  of  himself,  "  I  am  a  part  of  that 
power  that  always  wills  the  evil,  and  always 
does  the  good."  ^  Tennyson,  observing  that 
many  a  man  overcomes  the  heats,  passions, 
and  follies  of  youth,  becomes  "  a  sober  man 
among    his    boys,"  and  "  wears    his 

.  LIII. 

manhood  hale  and  green,'"  is  tempted 
to  adopt  Goethe's  view.  He  asks  :  Must  the 
field  of  life  be  sown  with  '"  wild  oats,''  ere  it 
be  fit  to  produce  useful  grain  ?  At  best  it 
could  be  true  only  for  those  men  who  are 
strong  enough  to  outlive  the  "  heats  of  youth," 
not  for  those  who  succumb  to  them.  But, 
even  were  it  true  for  the  first,  it  would  be 
unwise  to 

"  preach  it  as  a  truth 
To  those  that  eddy  round  and  round," 

that  is,  those  who  are  still  in  the  whirlpool  of 
passion.  We  must  not  allow  the  difficulty 
which  "divine  Philosophy"  finds  in  drawing  a 
clear  line  between  good  and  evil  to  mislead 
us  into  confounding  them,  or  trifling  with  the 
distinction  between  them.  All  such  confusion 
is  pandering  to  "the  Lords  of  Hell." 

1  Faust,  Pt.  I.    vv.  983  sq. 


52  In  Mnnoriani. 

But,  while  we  call  evil  evil,  we  cannot,  if  we 

believe  that  "the  great  heart  of  the  world  is 

just,"  convince  ourselves  that  it  is  eternal  for 

any  being,  or  that  anything  has  been  brought 

into  life  for  an  end  other  than  itself, 

LIV. 

or  for  no  end  at  all.  In  God's  world 
there  cannot  be  any  refuse  or  waste.  Good 
will  come  at  last  to  everything,  even  to  the 
singed  moth  and  the  cloven  worm.  But  alas  ! 
looking  at  the  facts  of  life  as  they  present 
themselves  to  us,  we  find  much  that  cries  out 
against  this  conviction.     We 

"can  but  triist  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last  —  far  off  —  at  last,  to  all, 
And  every  winter  change  to  spring." 

Such  conviction  comes  not  from  knowledge, 
but  from  faith,  that  immediate,  ineluctable  de- 
mand of  the  heart  for  justice,  from  something 
in  us  as  natural  and  imperious  as  the  infant's 
dread  of  darkness  and  cry  for  the  light. -^ 

Yea,  we  cannot  doubt  that  this  innate  de- 
mand for  justice,  this  self-approving 
something  which  desires  that  "no  life 
may  fail  beyond  the  grave,"  is  the  most  god- 
like thing  in  us.  It  comes  of  infinite  love  and 
mercy,  the  dearest  attributes  of  God.  Can 
that  which  is  likest  to  God  in  us  be  a  lie  ? 
And  shall  we  allow  ourselves  to  be  induced  to 
believe  this  by  certain  phenomena  of  nature, 

1  Compare  cxxiv.  5,  Introduction  pp.  8  sqq. 


Faith  and  Science.  5  3 

whose  meaning  we  cannot  comprehend  ?  Shall 
we  distrust  the  deepest  utterances  of  our  own 
souls,  and  lend  an  ear  to  the  inarticulate  de- 
liverances of  rocks,  plants,  and  brute  beasts  ? 
If  we  watch  the  procedure  of  Nature,  as  re- 
vealed in  the  fossiliferous  rocks  and  in  her 
living  processes,  we  seem  to  learn  that  she 
cares  only  for  types,  and  is  absolutely  indif- 
ferent to  individuals  : 

"  of  fifty  seeds 
She  often  brings  but  one  to  bear." 

It  is  hard  for  the  understanding  to  reconcile 
such  facts  with  the  faith  that  every  living  thing 
has  its  aim, 

"  That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroy'd 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 
When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete." 

Finding  no  hope  but  in  faith,  the  poet  falls 
with  his  burden  upon  that  mystic  stair  which 
leads  "through  darkness  up  to  God,"  stretches 
"  lame  hands  of  faith."  calls  to  what  he  feels  to 
be  supreme,  —  justice  and  love,  —  and  "faintly 
trusts  the  larger  hope  "  of  universal  good. 

There  are  few  finer  conceptions  in  modern 
literature  than  that  expressed  in  the  lines, 
"  the  great  world's  altar-stairs 
That  slope  thro'  darkness  up  to  God." 

That  the  way  to  God  is  a  steep  stair,  rising 
through  night  to  light,  is  a  familiar  conception 


54  Ifi  Mcvioriam. 

with  all  mystics,  with  Bernard,  Bonaventura, 
Dante.  Even  M.  Renan  says:  "The  path  of 
the  universe  is  shrouded  in  darkness,  but  it 
goes  toward  God."  ^  But  grandly  original  is 
the  thought  that  this  stair  is  an  "  altar-stair," 
and  that  the  great  world  itself  is  an  altar,  upon 
which  everything  that  lives,  if  it  will  save  its 
life,  must  offer  itself  in  sacrifice  to  God.  Every 
step  upwards  is  a  step  away  from  self  and 
towards  God,  from  darkness  to  light.  At 
first  the  rays  from  above  are  faint ;  but  they 
brighten  as  we  proceed,  until  at  last  we  reach 
the  great  altar-fire,  which  consumes  the  very 
last  remnants  of  self,  the  cause  of  all  the 
darkness. 

But  even  if,  with  the  Comtists  and  the  ma- 
jority of  evolutionists,  we  could  bring 
ourselves  to  accept  the  doctrine  that 
Nature  cares  nothing  for  individuals,  but  only 
for  types  or  races,  and  to  find  a  satisfaction  for 
all  our  aspirations  in  altruistic  devotion  to  the 
interests  of  "  Humanity,"  we  should  soon  find 
ourselves  deprived  of  even  that  satisfaction  by 
the  voice  of  Nature.  We  have  but  to  examine 
the  fossiliferous  rocks  and  the  soil  of  the  earth 
to  find  that  "a  thousand  types    are   gone."  ^ 

1  Book  of  Job,  Introduction. 

2  See  Darwin,  Origin  of  Species,  chap,  x.,  On  Extinc- 
tion. It  must  be  remembered  that  this  work  did  not 
appear  till  1859,  long  after  In  Memoriam  was  given  to 
the  world. 


Nature  and  Reason.  5  5 

Nature  seems  to  say,  "  I  care  for  nothing,  all 
shall  go."  Some  catastrophe  or  some  change 
in  natural  conditions  may  extinguish  the  whole 
human  race  at  any  moment.  Can  we  sacrifice 
ourselves  for  a  humanity  of  which  this  may  be 
the  end  ?     Reason  revolts. 

Nature  says  one  thing,  Reason,  the  voice 
of  God,  another.  Nature  says  all  living  things 
are  born  to  die,  "  the  spirit  doth  but  mean  the 
breath  "  :  ^  Reason,  looking  at  man  and  his  life, 
his  loves,  his  aspirations,  his  faith,  his  suffer- 
ings, his  self-sacrifices,  utterly  rebels  against 
this  suggestion.  If  man's  end  is  to  be  petri- 
fied into  rocks,  or  blown  about  as  dust,  then 
he  is  a  mockery  of  mockeries,  and  his  life  as 
futile  as  frail : 

"  No  more  ?     A  monster  then,  a  dream, 
A  discord.     Dragons  of  the  prime 
That  tare  each  other  in  their  slime, 
Were  mellow  music  match'd  with  him." 

And  the  poet,  in  his  despair,  longs  for  the  voice 
of  his  departed  friend,  "  to  soothe  and  bless  ;  " 
but  feels  that  no  complete  solution  of  his  diffi- 
culties can  come,  till  we  have  passed  "  behind 
the  veil  "  of  flesh  that  hides  from  us  the  eternal 
realities. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  at  the  present  day 

1  The  Latin  spiritus,  the  Greek  i^vtvixa,  tpvxv,  and 
many  other  words  used  to  designate  the  psychic  princi- 
ple, meant  originally  breath.  All  metaphysical  terms  are 
metaphors,  borrowed  from  physics. 


56  In  Mernoriam. 

that,  upon  the  question  of  the  soul's  immortal- 
ity, Nature  and  natural  science  have  nothing 
to  say.  Science  deals  solely  with  becoming 
(  Werden),  with  phenomena  and  their  order  of 
succession  ;  and  the  soul  is  not  a  phenomenon. 
It  belongs  to  the  intelligible  world  of  unchang- 
ing realities,  to  which  also  belongs  the  faculty 
of  faith,  "the  test  of  things  not  seen."  Thus 
"God  and  Nature,"  Reason  and  Understand- 
ing, are  not  "  at  strife  j  "  they  only  speak  two 
different  languages,  and  treat  of  two  different 
worlds. 

The  poet's  despairing  mood  does  not    last. 
He  feels  it  to  be  a  wrong  to  the  mem- 

LVII 

ory  of  his  friend,  and,  rather  than 
cherish  it,  he  will  accept  his  loss,  and  cease 
wasting  and  darkening  the  present  by  living 
solely  in  the  past.  But,  in  thus  loosening  his 
embrace  upon  the  past,  he  feels  that  he  is  leav- 
ing half  his  life  behind,  and  that  without  it 
he  will  pass  away,  and  his  activity  come  to  a 
close.  All  that  comforts  him  and  binds  him 
to  life  is  the  thought  that  his  friend  is  "  richly 
shrined  "  in  his  verse. ^  If  objective  immortality 
be  impossible,  he  has  secured  for  his  friend  at 

^  Compare  Shakespeare,  Sonnet  XVIII. 

"  But  thy  eternal  summer  shall  not  fade, 
Nor  lose  possession  of  that  fair  thou  owest, 
Nor  shall  Death  brag  thou  wander'st  in  his  shade, 
When  in  eternal  lines  to  time  thou  grow'st ; 
So  long  as  men  can  breathe,  cr  eyes  can  see, 
So  long  lives  this,  and  this  gives  life  to  thee." 


Refuge  in  Faith.  57 

least  a  "  subjective  immortality,"  as  the  Comt- 
ists  say.^  In  the  ears  of  all  men  "  till  hearing 
dies,"  the  poet's  verses  will  sound  like  the 
agonia,  announcing 

"  The  passing  of  the  sweetest  soul 
That  ever  look'd  with  human  eyes," 

or  the  requiem  sung  at  a  saint's  enshrinement. 
With   such   sepulchral   accents  of   hopeless 
resisrnation  he  tries  to  take  leave  of 

^  ,  ,  LVIII. 

the   past   and   turn   to   the   present ; 
but  ere  he  can  do  so,  the  "high  Muse,"  Faith, 
bids   him   not  darken   human    life  with  such 
dolorous,  fruitless  dirges,  adding 
"  Abide  a  little  longer  here, 
And  thou  shall  take  a  nobler  leave." 

That  is,  cling  to  the  past  with  all  its  joys  and 
sorrows  a  little  longer,  and  thou  shalt  then  be 
able  to  yield  it  up  and  accept  the  present  in  a 
mood  nobler  than  that  of  mere  blind  resigna- 
tion. That  past  contains  the  ''promise  and 
potency  "  of  the  future.  Cling  to  the  Beatrice 
of  early  faith,  until  she  rise  "from  flesh  to 
spirit,"  until  thou  be  able  to  behold  her  as 
spirit ;  then  thou  wilt  gladly  take  leave  of  the 
love  that  was  manifested  in  the  flesh,  to  glow 
Avith  a  deeper  love  manifested  in  the  spirit. 
And  this  will  be  a  nobler  leave-taking." 

1  See  George  Eliot,  "  O  may  I  join  the  choir  invisi- 
ble," and  parts  of  Swinburne's  "  Super  Flumina  Babylo- 
nis." 

-  Cf.  Dante,  Pur^.,  xxx.,  xxxi. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

(lix-lxxi.) 

Acceptance  of  Sorrow^  as  a  chastener.  Hope. 
Play  of  the  fancy.  Visiotis  of  sleep  and  wak- 
ing. 

Accordingly,  the  poet  accepts  his  Sorrow, 
takes  it  to  his  bosom  as  a  wife,  real- 

LIX. 

izing  that,  in  its  milder  moods  at 
least,  it  may  make  him  "wise  and  good,"  and, 
living  side  by  side  with  Hope,  cease  to  seem 
Sorrow  at  all.  In  this  mood  he  is  able  to  turn 
with  composure  to  the  past,  and  tries  in  imagi- 
nation to  conceive  his  present  relation  to  his 

friend.    He  feels  like  a  simple  village 

girl  who  has  fallen  in  love  with  a  man 
of  higher  rank  than  her  own,  and  suffers  from 

the  consciousness  of  her  inferiority. 

LXI.  ^ 

How  poor  must  his  mental  and  spirit- 
ual condition  seem  to  one  who,  in  heaven,  has 
joined 

"  the  circle  of  the  wise, 
The  perfect  flower  of  human  time  "  !  i 

^  Here  the    poet   had  probably  in  his   mind  Dante's 
Rose  of  the  Blessed.     See  Paradiso,  cantos  xxx.,  xxxii. 

Compare  .vxiii.    19  sqq. 


Sorrow  and  Hope.  59 

Still,  no  one,  not  even  the  soul  of  Shakespeare 
of  the  sonnets,  could  have  loved  a  friend  more. 
Perhaps  this  may  be  a  claim  to  attention  ;  if 
not,  if  that  love  is  too  slight  and  un- 

LXII 

worthy,  then  he  is  willing  that  his 
friend  should  look  upon  it  as  a  boyish  caprice, 
an  idle  tale,  and  turn  away  from  it,  with  "  a  fly- 
ing smile,"  to  nobler  loves.  But  he  comforts 
himself  with  the  thought  that  wide  differences 
of  condition  do  not  always  preclude  sympathy. 
He   himself   has   a  certain    pity  and 

LXIII 

affection  even   for  horses  and  dogs : 
may   not    his    friend,    though   as   far   exalted 
above  him    as  he    above    these  animals,  have 
a  certain  compassionate  feeling  for  him  ? 
Another  thought  strikes  him.     His 

.  LXIV. 

friend  may  look  back  upon  his  earthly 
life  and  him,  as  a  man  who,  having  risen  by 
his  own  efforts  from  a  low  condition  to  one 
of  influence  and  command,  looks  back  with 
pleasure  and  a  certain  longing  to  the  village 
where  he  was  born  and  the  friends  of  his  boy- 
hood, still  toiling  away  at  their  simple,  rustic 
occupations. 

But  these  are  fancies,  whose  only  aim  is  to 
work    up    a    happy    thought.       His 
friend    may  assume   any  attitude  to- 
ward him  he  pleases,  so  long  as  the  bond  be- 
tween them  is  not  broken.    He  is  only  anxious 
to  believe  that,  just  as  something  of  his  friend 


6o  In  Meinoriam. 

lives  and  works  in  him,  so  something  of  him 

may  live  and  work  in  his  friend.    And 
LXVI.  ^  .      .       .  •      .,     . 

now  he  begnis  to  recognize  that  a  cer- 
tain humanizing  effect  has  come  from  his  loss. 
The  very  desolation  caused  by  it,  like  the 
blank  occasioned  by  loss  of  sight,  has  made 
him  easily  pleased  with  trifles,  but  at  the  same 
time  "  kindly  with  his  kind."  The  removal 
of  some  object  of  affection  which  is  above  us 
often  turns  our  affection  to  that  which  is  be- 
side or  below  us. 

If,  during  the  day,  the  poet's  imagination  is 

occupied  with   the  glorified  spirit  of 

LXVII  . 

his  friend,  at  night  it  wanders  to  the 
resting  place  of  his  body,  seeing  his  memorial 
tablet  illumined  by  the  moon,  or  glimmering 
like  a  ghost  in  the  gray  dawn.     Even 
in  sleep  his  fancy  labors  with  images 
of  his  friend.    At  one  time,  the  years  of  friend- 
ship come  up  again  in  all  their  freshness ;  but 
alas !  when  he  turns  to  his  friend,  he  finds  a 
darkening  trouble  in  his  eye.     Sleep  has  trans- 
ferred the  distress  in  his  own  soul  to  the  face 
of  his  friend.     A  fine  piece  of  psychological 
observation !      At    another   time    he 
dreams  of  universal  desolation.     He 
himself,  crowned  with  thorns,  is  made  the  butt 
of  public  scorn,  until  an  angel  with  low  voice 
and  bright  look  comes  to  his  aid. 


Visions  of  Sleep  and  Waking.        6 1 

"  He  reach'd  the  glory  of  a  hand, 

That  seetn'd  to  touch  it  into  leaf: 
The  voice  was  not  the  voice  of  grief, 
The  words  were  hard  to  understand." 

With  the  single  exception  of  Dante,  no  poet 
has  made  so  many  fine  observations  on  the 
visions  of  sleep  as  Tennyson.  Perhaps  even 
finer  are  his  observations  on  those  waking  vis- 
ions which  he  and,  apparently,  all  persons  of 
powerful  imagination  see,  when  they 
gaze  fixedly  into  the  dark.  These 
visions  are  entirely  beyond  the  control  of  the 
will.  Accordingly,  when  the  poet  strives  to 
paint  the  features  of  his  friend  upon  the 
gloom  among  his  waking  visions,  he  finds  he 

cannot : 

"  the  hues  are  faint 
And  mix  with  hollow  masks  of  night." 

These  masks  go  on  tumbling  and  mixing  at 
their  own  pleasure,  a  strange,  weird  phantas- 
magoria, 

"  Till  all  at  once  beyoitd  the  will 
I  hear  a  wizard  music  roll, 
And  thro'  a  lattice  on  the  soul 
Looks  thy  fair  face  and  makes  it  still." 

How  often  does  the  image  which  one  has 
vainly  tried  to  conjure  up  flash  of  itself  be- 
fore the  eye.  when  the  will  is  quiescent ! 

Among   the  consistent  dream-visions   from 
the  past  that  come  to  the  poet,  the 

LXXI 

most   remarkable    are   those   from   a 


62  ///  Memoriavi. 

summer  tour  which  he  made  through  France 
with  his  friend  in  1832.^  So  clear  are  these 
visions  that  he  begs  "  Sleep,  kinsman  to  death 
and  trance  and  madness,"  to  "bring  an  opiate 
trebly  strong,"  and  not  only  call  up  the  past 
in  all  its  reality  and  joy,  but  to  blot  out  the 
sense  of  loss  and  wrong  that  comes  from  the 
present.  So,  in  sleep  at  least,  his  friend  will 
be  restored  to  him,  in  a  way  foreshadowing  the 
restoration  that  may  be  expected  from  Death. 
Death  may  give  completely  what  sleep  can 
give  only  blurred.  So  hope  comes  from  many 
quarters. 

1  Compare  the  poem,  hi  the  Valley  of  Caiiteretz. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

(Ixxii-lxxvii.) 

W/iat  /lis  friend  might  have  been.      Vanity  of 
fame  and  (f  moniimefits. 

But  the  return  of  the  anniversary  of  his 
friend's  death  (September  15th)  brings  back 
all  the  old  feelin";  of  loss,  and   sets 

LXXII. 

the  poet's  imagination  to  work,  fancy- 
ing all  that  might  have  been,  had  his  friend 
been  spared.    But  he  is  not  now  in  a  rebellious 
mood.    True,  the  fame  which  he  fore- 

,  .       '   .         ,  ,  ,       ,     LXXIII. 

saw  for  his  friend,  as  the  reward  of 
much  usefulness,  has  not  been  realized ;  but 
can  he  tell  whether  the  world  needed  his 
friend  at  all  ?  "  Great  Nature  is  more  wise 
than  I,"  -^  he  says  elsewhere,  and  he  says  the 
same  here,  in  other  words  : 

"  I  curse  not  nature,  no,  nor  death  ; 
For  nothing  is  that  errs  from  law." 

And,  after  all,  what  is  fame  t  A  mere  shadow 
that,  even  at  the  best,  lasts  for  a  few  years, 
but  lays  no  hold  on  eternity.  One  can  well 
afford  to  dispense  with  the  short-lived,  sub- 
1    ToJ.S.,x.<). 


64  I'i  Mcmoriain. 

jective  immortality  of  the  Comtists,^  mere 
fame  to  which  its  object  is  utterly  insensible, 
provided  he  obtain  objective  immortality,  an 
ever-widening  and  deepening  conscious  life. 
What  is  even  Shakespeare's  fame  compared 
with  eternal  bliss?  Dante,  who  w^as  himself 
by  no  means  free  from  the  "  last  infirmity  of 
noble  mind,"  has  expressed  this  with  great 
force  and  truth,  in  words  placed  in  the  mouth 
of  an  enlightened  soul  in  Purgatory : 

"  The  rumor  of  the  world  is  but  a  breath 
Of  wind,  that  now  comes  hence  and  now  comes  thence, 
And  changes  name,  because  it  changes  sides. 

"  What  fame  wilt  thou  have  more,  if  old  thou  shed 
From  thee  the  flesh,  than  if  thou  hadst  been  dead 
Ere  thou  hadst  ceased  to  babble  'pap'  and  'mon,'^ 

"From  hence  a  thousand  vears,  which  is  a  space 
More  brief  to  the  eternal  than  a  wink 
Is  to  the  circle  that  in  heaven  moves  slowest  ? 

"  Your  fame  is  as  the  greenness  of  the  grass, 
That  comes  and  goes,  and  he  discolors  it 
Who  made  it  issue  tender  from  the  earth.  "  3 

Indifference  to  fame  naturally  follows  from 
a  firm  belief  in  immortality.     It  is,  therefore, 

1  See  Comte's  Catechisme  Posithnsfe,  pp.  i6i  sqq., 
where  this  immortality  is  described  in  a  very  amusing, 
not  to  say  absurd,  way. 

2  " II  pappo  e  il  dindi"  childish  words  for  bread  and 
money. 

''^  Pitrg.,yi\.    100-8;   1 1 5-7. 


Fame  and  Immortalitj'.  65 

peculiarly  characteristic  of  sincere  Christians. 
Among  pagans,  fame  was  reckoned  as  one  of 
the  noblest  motives,  as  we  see  in  the  Homeric 
poems  and  the  Edda.  In  the  latter  we  find 
an  excellent  expression  of  the  pagan  feeling 
on  the  subject :  *'  Cattle  die  ;  friends  die  ;  a 
man  himself  dies  :  but  fame  dies  never  to  him 
that  gets  it  well."  ^ 

Thinking  of  the  wise  and  great  that  have 
earned  fame  worthilv,  the  poet  recog- 

.'  LXXIV. 

nizes  in  his  dead  friend  a  family  like- 
ness to  them,  which  he  thinks  might  be  worked 
up  into  something  compelling  a  rec- 
ognition   not  unlike  fame.     But  this 
elaboration  he  will   not   attempt,   leaving  his 
friend's  worth  to  be  judged  by  the  measure  of 
his  own  g^ief  for  his  loss.     Besides, 

"  The  world  which  credits  what  is  done 
Is  cold  to  all  that  might  have  been." 

But  his  friend  has  found  his  sphere  of  work 
elsewhere,  and  there,  doubtless,  his  appointed 
task 

"  Is  wrought  with  tumult  of  acclaim." 

And  even  if  he  should  choose  to  do  for  his 
friend  what  Dante  did  for  Beatrice, 
raising   to   his   interrupted   career   a 
monument  of  glorifying  verse,  what  would  it 

*  JF/dvamdl,  75;  cf .  76. 


66  In  Memoriani. 

profit  ?     It  too  would  perish  in  a  few  years, 

"before  the  mouldering  of  a  yew,"  '"ere  half 
the  lifetime  of  an  oak."  And,  though 
the  poems  of  Homer  still  last,  there 

is  no  hope  whatever  for  modern  rhyme.     It  is 

doomed  to  early  oblivion  : 

"  But  what  of  that  ?     My  darken'd  ways 
Shall  ring  with  music  all  the  same  ; 
To  breathe  my  loss  is  more  than  fame, 
To  utter  love  more  sweet  than  praise." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

(Ixxviii-lxxxiii.) 

Sorrow  woven  into  life.  The  example  of  the 
friend  followed.  The  moral  world  recon- 
structed. 

Another  Christmas  comes,  in  whose  festivi- 
ties there  is  no  sign  of  mourning  for 
the  departed, 

"  No  single  tear,  no  mark  of  pain." 

This  does  not  mean  that  Sorrow  is  dead,  or 
has  ceased  to  exert  Iier  purifying  influence  : 

"  No  —  mixt  with  all  this  mystic  frame, 
Her  deep  relations  are  the  same. 
But  with  long  use  her  tears  are  dry." 

She  has  been  accepted  and  woven  silently  into 
life. 

The  family  festivities  suggest  the   thought 
that  the  poet   might   have  been  ex- 

.  .  LXXIX 

pected  to  find  an  object  for  his  deep- 
est affections  among  his  own  kin,  whereas  he 
has  said  (ix.   5.)  that  his  friend  was  more  to 
him  than  his  brothers.    He  assures  his  brother  ^ 

1  Charles  Tennyson,  who  afterwards  changed  his  sur- 
name to  Turner,  was  himself  no  mean  poet.     In  1S27 


68  III  McnioriajH. 

that  this  implies  no  want  of  respect  for  him, 
who  is  worthy  "to  hold  the  costliest  love  in 
fee."  But  brothers  are  "one  in  kind,"  being 
moulded  under  the  same  influences,  whereas 
the  stranger  often  possesses  a  difference  which 
gives  zest  to  friendship. 

"  And  so  my  wealth  resembles  thine, 
But  he  was  rich  where  I  was  poor, 
And  he  supplied  my  want  the  more 
As  his  unlikeness  fitted  mine  " 

The    difference    between   himself    and   his 
friend  suggests  the  question  how  the 

LXXX 

latter  would  have  acted,  had  the  case 
been  reversed ;  that  is,  had  Tennyson  died  and 
Hallam  been  spared.  He  feels  sure  that  the 
bereaved  one  would  then  have  felt 

"A  grief  as  deep  as  life  or  thought, 
But  stay'd  in  peace  with  God  and  man," 

turning  his  "burthen  into  gain."  This  exam- 
ple love  prompts  the  poet  to  follow. 

Amid  such  thoughts  as  these,  Sorrow  is  be- 
coming so  gracious  that  he  is  almost 

LXXXI  .  . 

giving  up  his  grudge  against  Death, 

the  two  brothers  published  conjointly  a  small  volume  of 
poems,  entitled  "  Poems  by  two  Brothers,"  the  contents 
of  which  appear  in  some  American  editions  of  Tenny- 
son's poems.  The  second  volume  of  Maanillart's  Maga- 
zine (i860)  contains  four  sonnets  (pp.  98  sq.)  and  a  versi- 
fied legend  (p.  226)  by  Charles  Tennyson,  who  was  a 
clergyman.  The  third  brother,  Frederick  Tennyson,  was 
also  a  poet. 


Moral  World  Reconstructed.  6g 

when  the  thought  strikes  him  that,  had  his 
friend  Uved,  he  himself  might  have  come  to 
know  a  yet  deeper  love  than  that  of  his  youth, 
and  his  grudge  is  renewed. 

"  Bui  Death  returns  an  answer  sweet : 
'  My  sudden  frost  was  sudden  gain, 
And  gave  all  ripeness  to  the  grain 
It  might  have  drawn  from  after-heat.'  " 

And  so  he  again  becomes  reconciled  to 
Death's  work,  with  onlv  a  little  re- 

^      ,  1         '  .  LXXXII. 

sentment,    because   he   cannot    com- 
municate with  his  friend.     Altogether,  a  new 
life  is  stirring  in  him,  so  full  of  receptivity  and 
energv  that  he   is  impatient  with  the 

.  .  LXXXIII 

Spring  because  it  comes  too  slowly    "  '  . 

to  be  in  sympathy  with  him  and  his  feelings : 

"  O  thou,  new-year,  delaying  long, 
Delayest  the  sorrow  in  my  blood, 
That  longs  to  burst  a  frozen  bud, 
And  flood  a  fresher  throat  with  song." 

In  a  word,  the  poet's  shattered  moral  world 
has  been  reconstructed,  if  not  completely,  at 
least  far  enough  to  make  rational,  aimful  ac- 
tivity possible  for  him.  He  has  done  with 
what  he  calls  "  Confusions  of  a  wasted 
youth."' 

And  here  we  may  ask :  \Miat  influences 
have  effected  this  reconstruction  ?  The  an- 
swer is,  Time  and  Reason.  The  former,  by 
dulling  the  emotional  pain  which  converts  the 


70  In  Memoriam. 

visible  world  into  chaos,  has  made  it  possible 
for  the  understanding  to  recognize  that  "  Noth- 
ing is  that  errs  from  law  " :  the  second,  intro- 
ducing order  into  the  moral  chaos,  which  the 
understanding  always  produces,  finds  justice 
and  love  in  the  essence  of  things  : 

"  I  kiioiv  transplanted  human  worth 
Will  bloom  to  profit  otherwhere."     (Ixxii.  3.) 

The  injustice  which  the  understanding  finds 
in  temporal  life  Reason  wipes  out,  by  pointing 
to  eternal  life.  Justice  is  in  the  spiritual  world 
what  mechanical  law  is  in  the  material.  These 
two  worlds  constitute  the  moral  world,  wherein 
man  is  called  to  choose  and  act. 


CHAPTER  X. 

(Ixxxiv-lxxxix.) 

The  ^^  low  begitinings  of  cotitent"  resulting  in  (i) 
acceptance  of  loss,  (2)  new  attachments,  (3) 
pori'er  to  dwell  with  pleasure  in  the  past. 

In  his  altered  mood,  the  poet  is  able  to  do 
three  things  impossible  before :  First,  to  con- 
template, with  only  a  slight  reawakening  of 
bitterness,  the  life  that  would  have  been  his, 
if  his  friend  had  been  spared  ;  second,  to  enter 
upon  new  friendships  ;  third,  to  live  over  again 
the  past  and  revisit  the  scenes  of  it,  with  a  cer- 
tain delight. 

(I.)  The  picture  of  the  life  that  might  have 
been    is  drawn  with  infinite   tender- 

LXXXIV 

ness  and  warmth.     The  poet  sees  his 
friend  daily  growing  in  all  the  graces  of  man- 
hood, "  a  central  warmth  diffusing  bliss  "  on 
all  his  kin,  which  would  have  included  himself.^ 

1  Arthur  Hallam  was  to  have  married  Tennyson's 
sister  Emily.  Among  his  published  Reviains  there  are 
two  poems  referring  to  her,  "  To  two  Sisters,"  "  To  the 
loved  One."  Both  are  marked  by  exquisite  purity  and 
tenderness,  such  as  we  rarely  find  save  in  the  Italian 
poets. 


'J2  In  Memoriaui. 

He  sees  him  a  power  for  good  in  society  and 
state,  earning  an  honest,  unsought  fame  among 
men,  and  the  approval  of  God.  He  sees  him- 
self "an  honor'd  guest,"  walking  by  the  side 
of  his  friend  through  all  the  phases  of  a  noble 
life,  rich  in  good,  until  at  last 

"  He  that  died  in  Holy  Land 
Would  reach  us  out  the  shining  hand, 
And  take  us  as  a  single  soul." 

Perhaps  there  does  not  exist  in  literature  any 
other  description  of  a  noble  life  equal  to  this, 
unless  it  be  that  which  occurs  in  the  fourth 
book  (third  ode)  of  Dante's  Convivio.  The 
following  is  a  literal  rendering : 

"  The  soul  which  this  goodness  adorns 
Holds  it  not  within  itself  concealed ; 
For  from  the  beginning,  when  it  weds  the  body, 
It  shows  it  even  unto  death. 
Obedient,  sweet,  and  modest 
It  is  in  its  Earliest  Age  ; 
And  it  adorns  its  person  with  beauty 
Through  the  harmony  of  its  parts. 
In  Manhood  temperate  and  strong. 
Full  of  love  and  courteous  praise, 
And  only  in  deeds  of  loyalty  it  takes  delight. 
It  is  in  its  Old  Age 

Prudent  and  just;  and  generosity  is  heard  of  it; 
And  in  itself  it  rejoices 
To  hear  and  speak  of  others'  good. 
Then  in  the  Fourth  Part  of  life 
It  reweds  itself  to  God, 
Contemplating  the  end  which  awaits  it, 
And  blesses  the  times  that  are  past." 


Turning  hack  to  Life.  73 

(II.)  With  the  old  conviction  (xxvii.  4)  con- 
firmed that 

"  'T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all," 

the  poet  turns  warmly  to  a  second  friend  ^  of 
early  days,  who,  with  a  view  to  allevi- 
ate their  "common  grief,"  has  asked 
him,  kindly  but  half  reproachfully,  about  his 
condition,  and  whether  sorrow  for  his  loss  has 
weakened  his  faith  and  hope  in  higher  things, 
and  blasted  his  affections.  In  true  Dantesque 
fashion,  he  replies  to  all  the  three  questions  in 
turn.  First,  he  tells  of  the  years  of  sorrow 
long-drawn-out  that  followed  his  great  loss, 
and  how,  notwithstanding  his  pain,  he  has 
found,  through  the  influence  of  his  friend, 
"  in  grief  a  strength  reserved  "  preventing  him 
from  swerving  '"to  works  of  weakness."  He 
has  continually  recognized  that  the  possession 
of  a  will  free  to  choose  life  or  death  imposes 
on  man  heavy  responsibilities  of  action  : 

"  Yet  none  could  better  know  than  I, 
How  much  of  act  at  human  hands 
The  sense  of  human  will  demands, 
By  which  we  dare  to  live  or  die." 

1  Who  the  friend  is,  is  not  apparent ;  possibly  E.  L. 
Lushington,  or  Rev.  W.  H.  Brookfield,  on  whose  death 
the  poet  wrote  a  sonnet,  containing  these  lines  : 

"  How  oft  with  him  we  paced  that  walk  of  limes, 
Him,  the  lost  light  of  those  dawn-golden  times, 
Who  loved  you  well !     Now  both  are  gone  to  rest." 


74  In  Memoriam. 

Second,  he  gives  assurance  that  grief  has  not 
undermined  his  faith,  by  teUing  what  he  be- 
lieves with  regard  to  his  lost  friend : 

"  God's  finger  touch'd  him,  and  he  slept. 

"  The  great  Intelligences  fair  ^ 

That  range  above  our  mortal  state, 
In  circle  round  the  blessed  gate, 
Received  and  gave  him  welcome  there ; 

"  And  led  him  thro'  the  blissful  climes, 
And  show'd  him  in  the  fountain  fresh 
All  knowledge  that  the  sons  of  flesh 
Shall  gather  in  the  cycled  times." 

1  "  The  movers  of  that  [third  heaven]  are  substances 
separate  from  matter,  that  is  Intelligences,  whom  the 
common  sort  call  Angels."  —  Dante,  Convtvio,  ii.  5. — 
"  The  First  Agent,  that  is,  God,  impresses  his  power 
upon  some  things  after  the  manner  of  a  direct  ray,  and 
on  others  after  the  manner  of  a  reflected  splendor. 
Whence,  on  the  Intelligences  the  divine  Light  radiates 
without  medium;  on  the  others  it  is  reflected  from  these 
Intelligences  that  are  first  illuminated." — Ibid.,  iii.  14. — 
"  In  certain  books  translated  from  the  Arabic,  sepa- 
rate substances,  which  we  call  Angels,  are  called  Intelli- 
gences, perhaps  for  the  reason  that  substances  of  this 
kind  always  have  actual  [never  mere  potential]  intelli- 
gence. In  books  translated  from  the  Greek,  however, 
they  are  called  Intellects  or  Minds.""  —  Thomas  Aquinas, 
Sinn.  Theol.,  Pt.  I.  q.  79,  art.  10.  Among  the  Christian 
Gnostics  these  intelligences  were  called  ^ons  {alHovis). 
These  are  mentioned  even  in  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews, 
i.  2 :  "  By  whom  also  He  made  the  /Eons  "  {aloivas,  curi- 
ously mistranslated  '  worlds  '  and  '  ages,'  in  our  English 
versions). 


Faith  and  Love  Intact.  75 

Third,  he  affirms  that  his  affections,  so  far 
from  being  blasted  by  grief,  have  been  deep- 
ened and  purified  by  it.  He  loves  his  lost 
friend  with  a  friendship 

"  Which  masters  Time  indeed,  and  is 
Eternal,  separate  from  fears  : 
The  all-assuming  months  and  years 
Can  take  no  part  away  from  this." 

Nay  more,  though  every  season,  every  wind 
and  wave  recall  the  "  old  affection  of  the 
tomb,"  that  very  affection  seems  to  say  to 
him  : 

"  Arise,  and  get  thee  forth  and  seek 
A  friendship  for  the  years  to  come." 

Accordingly  he  accepts  with  pleasure  the  prof- 
fered affection  of  the  other  friend,  and  re- 
turns it,  though  still  forced  to  admit, 

"  I  could  not,  if  I  would,  transfer 
The  whole  I  felt  for  him  to  you." 

In  a  word,  while  loving  the  incomparable  friend 
more  than  ever,  yea,  with  the  great  passion  of 
his  life,  his  heart  is  still  fresh  and  open  to 
other  affections. 

He  is  now  again  in  full  sympathy  with  Na- 
ture, the  sure  sign  of  spiritual  health  ; 
the  shadows  of  Doubt  and  Death  are 
lifted  from  his  fancy,  which  now  exultingly  flies 

"  From  belt  to  belt  of  crimson  seas 
On  leagues  of  odor  streaming  far, 


'j^  In  Memoriam. 

To  where  in  yonder  orient  star 
A  hundred  spirits  whisper  '  Peace.'  " 

(III.)  The   poet   now  revisits    with    delight 
Cambridge,  Avhere  he  and  his  friend 

LXXXVII 

had  passed  so  many  happy,  fruitful 
days.^  He  gives  us  a  charming  picture  of  the 
best  side  of  university  life,  and  of  Arthur  Hal- 
lam,  telling  how  in  his  rapt  moments  his  fellows 

saw 

"  The  God  within  him  light  his  face, 

"  And  seem  to  hft  the  form,  and  glow 
In  azure  orbits  heavenly-wise  ; 
And  over  those  ethereal  eyes 
The  bar  of  Michael  Angelo."  2 

The  joy  at  the  thought  of  all  this,  alternating 

with  the  sense  of  loss,  makes  the 

LXXXVIII.  ^     ,      ,         -  . 

poet    feel    the    fierce    extremes    of 

emotion  ;  so  that,  though  he  would  "  prelude 

woe,"  which  is  disharmony,  he  is  mastered  by 

the  fundamental  harmony  of  the  universe  : 

"  The  glory  of  the  sum  of  things 
Will  flash  along  the  chords  and  go." 

We  now  get  a  picture  of  Hallam's  visits  to 
Tennyson's   early  home   in    Lincoln- 

LXXXIX 

shire,  and  of  the  family  life  at  Som- 

1  Tennyson  went  to  Cambridge  in  182S  and  there  met 
Hall  am. 

-  The  portrait  of  Hallam  prefixed  to  his  Remains 
shows  this  bar,  though  but  slightly.  It  is  very  marked 
in  the  portraits  in  profile  of  Michael  Angelo. 


The  Becuity  of  the  Past.  yj 

ersby  Rectory.  And  what  an  atmosphere  of 
simple  happiness,  love,  and  refinement !  No 
wonder  that  Hallam  hated  cities,  which 

"  merge  ...  in  form  and  gloss 
The  picturesque  of  man  and  man." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

(xc-xcvi.) 

Desire  still  to  see  the  friend  in  any  fonn.  Dif- 
ficulties. Trance.  Ecstatic  union  with  the 
glorified  spirit.      Vision  of  truth.     Doubt. 

Having  thus,  with  much  pain  and  struggle, 
pieced  together  a  new  Hfe,  of  which  chasten- 
ing sorrow  is  an  essential  element,  the  poet 
asks  himself  how  it  would  be  if  his  friend 
should  now  return  to  him  and  annihilate  this 
sorrow.  Would  he  not  be  disconcerted,  like 
the  heir  to  a  great  estate  by  the  restoration  of 
his  father  to  life,  or  a  happy  wife  by  the  resus- 
citation of  an  old,  accepted  lover  ? 
xc 

No !  no  !    The  man  who  could  feel  so 

"  tasted  love  with  half  his  mind, 
Nor  ever  drank  the  inviolate  spring 
Where  nighest  heaven." 

Gladly  would  he  have  his  friend  return  to  him. 

"  Ah  dear,  but  come  thou  back  to  me  : 

Whatever  change  the  years  have  wrought, 
I  find  not  yet  one  lonely  thought 
That  cries  against  my  wish  for  thee." 

Yea,  he  would  be  glad  to  have  his  friend  come 


Desire  to  see  the  Dead.  79 

back  to   him  in  two  forms,  to   suit  different 
seasons  ;  in  the  spring  assuming  the 
form  he  wore  on  earth  ;  in  the  warm, 
bright   summer,  his  glorified  form,    appearing 
'•  hke  a  finer  light  in  light."  ^     At  the  same 
time  he  realizes  that,  if  his  friend  should  ap- 
pear to  him,  he  might  think  the  vis- 
•  ,    ,,      ■       •  x^  xcii. 

ion  a  mere  hallucmation.     JNay,  even 

if  it  should  recall  some  event  from  their  past 
lives,  he  might  take  this  for  a  trick  of  memory, 
while,  if  it  uttered  prophecies  or  warnings 
which  afterwards  came  true,  they  would  seem 

"  But  spiritual  presentiments 
And  such  refraction  of  events 
As  often  rises  ere  they  rise."  - 

From   all  this   the  poet   wisely  concludes : 

"I  shall  not  sec  thee."     His  friend, 

xciii. 
now  a  glorified   Intelligence,   '"  sepa- 
rate from  matter,"  will  not  reveal  himself  to 

1  Compare  the  beautiful  lines  in  Dante,  Farad.,  viii. 

16  sq. 

"  E  come  in  fiamma  fa\'illa  si  vede, 

E  come  in  voce  voce  si  disceme,"  etc. 

2  In  a  biographical  sketch  of  Henry  Fitzmaurice  Hal- 
lam,  who,  like  his  brother,  died  young,  —  a  sketch  writ- 
ten by  (Sir)  Henry  Sumner  Maine  and  Franklin  Lush- 
ington  and  prefixed  to  the  brother's  Remains,  —  we  find 
this  curious  passage :  "  He  was  conscious  nearly  to  the 
last,  and  met  his  early  death  (of  which  his  presenti- 
ments for  several  years  had  been  frequent  and  very  sin- 
gular) with  calmness  and  fortitude"  (p.  Ivi.). 


8o  In  Mcnioriam. 

the  senses,  which  are  related  only  to  matter. 
But  is  there  no  other,  no  direct  means  of  com- 
munication between  souls  ?  ^  May  not  the 
free  spirit  itself  come, 

"  Where  all  the  nerve  of  sense  is  numb ; 
Spirit  to  Spirit,  Ghost  to  Ghost"  ? 

And  the  poet  begs  his  friend,  if  such  possi- 
bility there  be,  to  descend  from  his  "  sightless 
range  with  gods,"  that  is,  from  the  invisible, 
divine  world,  and  to  hear 

"  The  wish  too  strong  for  words  to  name  ; 
That  in  this  blindness  of  the  frame 
My  Ghost  may  feel  that  thine  is  near."^ 

In  Other  words,  he  begs  his  friend  to  reveal 
himself  as  pure  spirit  to  pure  spirit,  which 
alone  would  be  true  spiritual  communication.^ 

1  Cf.  Ay/mer^s  Field : 

"  Star  to  star  vibrates  light :  may  soul  to  soul 
Strike  thro'  a  finer  element  of  her  own  ?  "' 

2  St.  Bonaventura,  in  speaking  of  the  ecstatic  union 
of  the  soul  with  God,  says  :  "  In  this  transition,  if  it  is 
to  be  perfect,  all  intellectual  activities  must  be  aban- 
doned, and  the  whole  apex  of  affection  transferred  and 
transformed  into  God.  But  this  is  a  mystical  and  most 
secret  thing,  which  no  one  knows  save  him  who  receives 
it,  no  one  receives  save  him  who  deserves  it."  —  Itinera- 
riiim  Mentis  in  Deiim,  chap.  vii. 

^  Compare  Lord  Houghton's  St>-angers  Yet : 

"  Will  it  ever  more  be  thus  — 
Spirits  still  impervious  ? 
Shall  we  ever  fairly  stand 


Desire  to  see  the  Dead.  8 1 

But  the  question  arises :    What  must  be  the 

internal   condition   of    the    man   who 

•  •       ,  xciv. 

may  hope  to  have  such  spiritual  com- 
munications from  the  "  silent,  earnest  spirit- 
realm  "  ?  He  must  be  "  pure  at  heart  and 
sound  in  head,"  "  with  divine  affections  bold," 
his  spirit  "at  peace  with  all."  Only  such  a 
man  can  "  call  the  spirits  from  their  golden 
day." 

"  They  haunt  the  silence  of  the  breast, 
Imaginations  calm  and  fair, 
The  memory  like  a  cloudless  air, 
The  conscience  as  a  sea  at  rest : 

"  But  when  the  heart  is  full  of  din, 

And  doubt  beside  the  portal  waits, 
They  can  but  listen  at  the  gates. 
And  hear  the  household  jar  within."^ 

In  the  quiet   of  a  summer  night,  when  all 

nature   is   ruled    by   a   spirit    of  har- 

xcv 
mony,  the  poet  finds  such  a  season 

Soul  to  soul,  as  hand  to  hand  ? 
Are  the  bounds  eternal  set 
To  maintain  us  strangers  yet." 

Cornhill  Magazine ,  vol.  i.   p.  44S. 

1  Compare  Shelley's  exquisite  lines  : 

"  I  am  as  a  spirit  who  has  dwelt 
Within  his  heart  of  hearts,  and  I  have  felt 
His  feelings,  and  have  thought  his  thoughts,  and  known 
The  inmost  converse  of  his  soul,  the  tone 
Unheard  but  in  the  silence  of  the  blood. 
When  all  the  pulses  in  their  multitude 
Image  the  trembling  calm  of  summer  seas." 


82  In  Menioriam. 

of  inner  calm,  and,  in  order  the  better  to  place 
his  own  soul  in  relation  with  that  of  his  friend, 
he  reads  "the  noble  letters  of  the  dead."  As 
he  proceeds,  love  and  faith  and  vigor  all  grow 
strong. 

"  So  word  by  word,  and  line  by  line, 

The  dead  man  touch'd  me  from  the  past, 
And  all  at  once  it  seem'd  at  last 
His  livmg  soul  was  flash'd  on  mine." 

But  this  is  not  the  soul  in  its  mundane,  unde- 
veloped condition  :  it  is  the  soul  that  has  seen 
the  ultimate  reality  and  truth,  which  it  now 
imparts  directly  to  the  soul  of  the  poet : 

"  And  mine  in  his  was  wound  and  whirl'd 
About  empyreal  heights  of  thought, 
And  came  on  that  which  is,  and  caught 
The  deep  pulsations  of  the  world, 

"  i^onian  music  measuring  out 

The  steps  of  Time —  the  shocks  of  Chance  — 
The  blows  of  Death.     At  length  my  trance 
Was  cancell'd,  stricken  thro'  with  doubt." 

That  these  lines  record  an  actual  experience 
there  can  be  no  doubt.  The  poet  tells  us  that 
he  was  in  a  trance.  Lest  this  assertion  should 
be  regarded  as  a  mere  poetic  phrase,  it  may 
be  well  to  say  that  Tennyson  from  very 
early  life  has  been  subject  to  trances.  In 
proof  of  this,  I  am  allowed  to  quote  from  a 
letter  written  by  him  in  1874  to  a  gentleman 
in  this  country,  who  had  sent  him  an  essay  on 


Trance.  83 

certain  remarkable  mental  effects  of  anesthet- 
ics. He  says  :  "  I  have  never  had  any  reve- 
lations through  ancesthetics ;  but  a  kind  of 
'  waking  trance  '  (^this  for  lack  of  a  better  word) 
I  have  frequently  had  quite  up  from  boy- 
hood when  I  have  been  all  alone.  This  has 
often  come  upon  me  through  repeating  my 
own  name  to  myself  silently,  till  all  at  once  as 
it  were  out  of  the  intensity  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  individuality  the  individuality  itself 
seemed  to  dissolve  and  fade  away  into  bound- 
less being  —  and  this  not  a  confused  state  but 
the  clearest  of  the  clearest,  the  surest  of  the 
surest,  utterly  beyond  words  —  where  death 
was  an  almost  laughable  impossibility  —  the 
loss  of  personality  (if  so  it  were)  seeming  no 
extinction  but  the  only  true  life. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  my  feeble  description. 
Have  I  not  said  the  state  is  utterly  beyond 
words  ?  But  in  a  moment  when  I  come  back 
to  my  normal  state  of  '  sanity '  I  am  ready  to 
fight  for  mem  liebes  Ich,  and  hold  that  it  will 
last  for  aeons  of  aeons." 

In  his  trance,^  the  poet  "came  on  that 
which  is "  {to  ovtws  ov),  the  ultimate  reality, 
and  from  that  point  of  view  was  able  to  see 

^  Trance  is  a  corruption  of  the  Latin  transitus,  a  word 
used  in  the  Middle  Age  to  translate  the  Greek  l/cffTcffts 
or  ecstasy.  Equivalent  expressions  were  excessus  meii- 
talis,  excessus  mentis.,  rap  tits  mentis,  ascensio,  extasis. 


84  Ifi  Menioriam. 

the  world  as  a  perfect  harmony,  in  which  even 
Chance  and  Death  were  necessary  and  con- 
cordant elements.-^  That  such  experiences, 
though  rare,  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  deeply 
religious  souls  in  all  ages  is  a  fact  most  amply 
attested.  Several  cases  are  mentioned  in  the 
Bible.  Of  these  the  most  remarkable  is  that 
of  Paul  the  Apostle,  recorded  in  the  twelfth 
chapter  of  the  second  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians. St.  Thomas  Aquinas  discusses  the 
nature  of  this  ecstasy  at  great  length,^  and 
says  :  "  The  soul  of  man  is  sometimes  rapt, 
when  it  is  elevated  by  the  divine  spirit  to  su- 
pernatural things,  with  abstraction  from  sen- 
sible things."  Whenever  in  the  Bible  the 
phrases  "  I  was  in  the  spirit,"  "  the  spirit  of 
the  Lord  came  upon  me,"  etc.,  occur,  they  al- 
ways imply  ecstasy.  St.  Bonaventura  relates 
that  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  once  fell  into  a  trance, 
in  which  he  saw  a  six-winged  seraph,  nailed  to 
a  cross,  and  that  he  ever  afterwards  bore  the 
stigmata  of  the  crucifixion.^  And  the  whole 
delightful  work.  The  Soul's  Progress  in  God,  is 
nothing  but  a  guide  to  such  ecstasy.     Dante 

1  An  exactly  similar  experience  is  claimed  for  Py- 
thagoras, "  that  being  outside  of  the  body  he  heard  a 
melodious  harmony"  CY-Kiivos  i<pT)  01s  (Eo^  yevS/xeyos  rov 
crd/jLaros  d/c^fcoo  i/jLixeXovs  ap/xopias.  Schol.  Ambros.  to 
Odyssey  I.  371). 

2  Sum.  Theol.,  II.2  q.  clxxv. 

3  Itinerar.  Mentis  in  Detim,  chapp.  i.,  vii. 


Ecstasy.  85 

tells  us  with  regard  to  himself  :  "  After  this 
sonnet  there  appeared  to  me  a  wonderful  vis- 
ion, in  which  I  saw  things  that  made  me  con- 
clude to  say  no  more  of  this  blessed  one  until 
such  time  as  I  could  more  worthily  treat  of 
her."  ■^     The  result  was  the  Divine  Comedy. 

But  it  is  not  only  among  Christians  that 
such  experiences  have  occurred.  Not  to  men- 
tion the  trances  ascribed  in  late  times  to  Py- 
thagoras, or  the  references  to  visions  of  the 
Divine  in  Plato  -  and  Aristotle,^  we  find  Por- 
ph}Ty,  in  his  biography  of  his  master,  Ploti- 
nus,  saying  that  this  philosopher  had  frequent 
trances,  in  which  he  saw  "  that  God  who  has 
neither  shape  nor  form  (I8ea),  and  is  exalted 
above  all  intellect  and  all  that  is  intelligible," 
four  such  trances  having  been  vouchsafed  dur- 
ing his  own  acquaintance  with  him.  Nay,  he 
even  goes  farther,  and  afhrms  that  he  himself 
had  one  such  experience,  in  his  sixty-eighth 
year.  To  attain  such  states  was  the  end  and 
aim  of  all  Neoplatonic  philosophy,  as  well  as 
of  much  Christian  Gnosticism. 

It  appears,  then,  that  certain  persons  of 
pure  and  deeply  religious  nature,  when  under 
the  influence  of  a  strong  spiritual  love,  and 
when  their  souls  are  calm,  collected,  and  free 
from  the  irritation  of  the  senses,  rise  to  a  finer 

1   Viia  JVuova,  last  chapter.     -  See.  Symposium,  p.  211. 
8  Metaphysics,  xii.   7  :   1072^5  24. 


86  In  Mcmoriam. 

form  of  consciousness,  in  which  they  become 
clearly  and  directly  aware  of  those  universal, 
spiritual  energies  which  control  the  world,  and 
which,  in  their  very  nature,  are  beyond  the 
reach  of  ordinary  sense-perception.  With  re- 
gard to  such  experiences  these  three  facts  are 
well  attested :  (i)  That  they  are  infinitely 
sweeter  and  more  satisfying  to  the  soul  than 
any  other  ;  (2)  that  they  impart  to  the  mind  a 
certainty  of  higher  things  which  nothing  else 
gives;  (3)  that  they  cannot  be  expressed  in 
human  concepts  or  in  human  speech,  except 
through  vague  symbols  and  parables,  which 
point  rather  to  blessedness  than  to  knowledge. 
Paul  tells  us  that  he  "  heard  things  unspeak- 
able (or  unspoken)  which  a  man  may  not  utter." 
Dante  says  : 

"  Within  that  heaven  which  of  His  light  takes  most 
Was  I,  and  things  beheld  which  to  rehearse 
Who  thence  descends  hath  neither  wit  nor  words ; 

Because,  when  it  approacheth  its  desire, 
Our  intellect  goes  deep'ning  down  so  far 
That  after  it  the  memory  cannot  go. 

But  yet  whatever  of  the  blessed  realm 
I  had  the  power  to  treasure  in  my  mind 
Shall  be  the  matter  of  the  present  song."  1 

And  when  at  last  he  "  comes  on  that  which  is," 
and  sees  the  primal  fount  of  being,  he  can  dis- 
tinguish nothing  :  he  is  only  supremely  blest.'^ 

1  Farad.,  i.  4  sqq.  ^  See  p.  25,  note. 


Ecstasy.  8y 

In  words  almost  identical  in  meaning  with 
those  quoted  above,  Tennyson  says  of  his 
trance  : 

"  Vague  words  !  but  ah.  how  hard  to  frame 
In  matter-moulded  forms  of  speech, 
Or  ev'n  for  intellect  to  reach 
Thro'  memory  that  which  I  became."  ^ 

That  such  trances  are  closely  akin  to  the 
deepest  poetic  insight  is  shown  by  the  utter- 
ances of  many  true  poets.  Wordsworth's  lines 
will  occur  to  every  one.  They  are  quoted  here 
as  the  highest  modern  expression  of  ecstasy  : 

"  Such  was  the  Boy  —  but  for  the  growing  Youth 
What  soul  was  his,  when,  from  the  naked  top 
Of  some  bold  headland  he  beheld  the  sun 
Rise  up  and  bathe  the  world  in  light !     He  looked  — 
Ocean  and  earth,  the  solid  frame  of  earth 
And  ocean's  liquid  mass  beneath  him  lay 
In  gladness  and  deep  joy.     The  clouds  were  touched, 
And  in  their  silent  faces  did  he  read 
Unutterable  love.     Sound  needed  none, 
Nor  any  voice  of  joy  ;  his  spirit  drank 
The  spectacle  :  sensation,  soul,  and  form 
All  melted  into  him  ;  they  swallowed  up 
His  animal  being  ;  in  them  did  he  live. 
And  bv  them  did  he  live  ;  they  were  his  life. 
In  such  access  of  mind,  in  such  high  hour 
Of  visitation  from  the  living  God, 

1  Compare  Dante,  Parad.,  i.  70  sqq. 

"  Transhumanize  to  signify  by  words 
None  may  :  but  let  th"  example  serve  for  those 
For  whom  grace  holds  th'  experience  in  reserve." 


88  /;/  Meinoriam. 

Thought  was  not;  in  enjoyment  it  expired. 
No  thanks  he  breathed,  he  proffered  no  request ; 
Rapt  into  still  communion  which  transcends 
The  imperfect  offices  of  prayer  and  praise, 
His  mind  was  a  thanksgiving  to  the  power 
That  made  him ;  it  was  blessedness  and  love."  ^ 

Goethe  doubtless  puts  his  own  deepest  insight 
into  the  Chorus  Mysticus,  with  which  he  closes 
Faust,  his  great  life-work  : 

"All  the  transient 
Is  but  a  parable ; 
The  unattainable 
Here  grows  attainment ; 
The  indescribable  — 
Here  it  is  done." 

It  is  perhaps  worth  wiiile  observing  that,  in  the 
Prologue  to  Faust,  Goethe  makes  the  world 
seem  a  perfect  harmony  to  the  archangels, 
who  see  the  principle  and  whole  of  it.^  Only 
to  the  narrow  intellect  of  Mephistopheles  is 
everything  disharmony. 

It  has  seemed  necessary  to  dwell  at  some 
length  on  this  matter  of  ecstasy,  because  it  is, 
in  a  sense,  the  kernel  of  the  whole  poem, 
which  everywhere  teaches  us  that  knowing  is 
not  the  highest  faculty  of  the  soul,  but  that 
above  it  is  another,  which  alone  can  give  us 
the  truths  necessary  for  rational  life.     This  is 

1  Exairsio)!,  Bk.  I. 

*  "  Und  alle  deine  hohen  Werke 

Bind  herrlicli  wie  am  ersten  Tag." 


Ecstasy.  89 

the  faculty  of  faith,  whose  form  is  justice,  and 
which,  when  at  its  highest,  sees  justice  or  har- 
mony everywhere.  It  has  been  shown  that  an 
ecstatic  vision  of  the  absolute  harmony  has 
been  claimed  by  some  of  the  purest  and  no- 
blest of  human  kind.  The  question  remains  : 
What  is  the  value  of  such  visions?  Seeing 
that  they  leave  behind  them  no  clear  know- 
ledge, but  only  certain  blessed  feelings  that 
seek  expression  in  symbols  or  myths,  often 
strange  and  fanciful,  like  St.  Francis'  six- 
winged  seraph,  what  confidence  can  the  under- 
standing place  in  such  symbols  ?  Can  they  be 
fairly  interpreted  so  as  to  be  a  guide  and  stay 
to  human  life  ?  Every  soul,  it  seems,  must  an- 
swer this  question  for  itself,  no  matter  whether 
it  has  had  the  experience  itself,  or  only  learnt 
of  it  from  others.  Tennyson  at  first  could  not 
place  full  confidence  in  his  vision.     It 

"  Was  cancell'd,  stricken  thro'  with  doubt." 
Morning  found  him  a  skeptic. 

Shall  this  doubt  be  put  away,  as  something 
base?  The  simple,  tender  spirit  of 
the  sister  saj-s  reverently :  "  Doubt 
is  Devil-born."  He  knows  not :  he  might  even 
be  inclined  to  admit  this,  were  it  not  for  the 
example  of  his  friend,  who  always  "  fought  his 
doubts."  He  knows  that  in  the  highest  region 
of  the  soul  it  is  not  doubt,  but  impurity,  that 
mars  and  darkens. 


go  In  Memoriam. 

"  Perplext  in  faith,  but  pure  in  deeds, 
At  last  he  beat  his  music  out. 
There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds. " 

So,  following  his  friend's  example,  he  will  fight 
his  doubts  and  gather  strength,  not  blinding 
his  judgment.  In  this  way  he  will  arrive  at 
that  power 

"  Which  makes  the  darkness  and  the  light, 
And  dwells  not  in  the  light  alone." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

(xcvii-ciii.) 

The  presence  of  the  lost  one,  as  a  universal  spirit, 
begins  to  be  felt,  though  only  at  times.  The 
old  sore  still  easily  opened.  A  happy,  signifi- 
cant dream. 

That  union  with  the  universal  which  the 
poet  experienced  in  his  trance,  if  it  has  not 
convinced  his  understanding,  has  not 
been  without  its  effect  upon  his  feel- 
ings.    He  now  finds  his  love  reflected  from  all 
the  world. 

"  My  love  has  talk'd  with  rocks  and  trees ; 
He  finds  on  misty  mountain-ground 
His  own  vast  shadow  glory-crown'd  ; 
He  sees  himself  in  all  he  sees." 

Toward  his  friend,  who  now  lives  "  in  vastness 
and  in  mystery,"  he  feels  like  a  wife  who  has 
remained  in  the  simple  household  ways  of  her 
maidenhood,  while  her  husband  has  risen  to 
heights  of  thought  or  science  which  she  can- 
not comprehend. 

"  She  knows  not  what  his  greatness  is  ; 
For  this,  for  all,  she  loves  him  more." 


92  III  Mcmoriain. 

But,  for  all  this,  the  sense  of  loss  still  re- 
mains, ready   to  be  galled  by  every 
xcviii.  .  . 

event  that  breaks  in  upon  the  quiet 

tenor  of  life.  Some  one  is  going  on  a  con- 
tinental tour,  in  which  he  will  visit  Vienna. 
This  recalls  the  fact  that  the  loved  one  died  in 
that  city,  and  makes  the  old  horror  of  it  ran- 
kle. The  poet  has  never  seen,  will  never  see, 
Vienna,  which,  despite  all  the  glowing  descrip- 
tions of  it  he  has  heard,  he  is  prepared  to  re- 
gard as  haunted  by  an  evil  fate. 

The  anniversary  of  his  friend's  death,  though 

ushered  in  with  all  the  beauty  of  the  autumn, 

brings  to  him  only  cause  for  mourn- 

XCIX  .  . 

ing.  Still,  it  is  no  longer  lonely 
grief.  To  all  those  for  whom  the  day  brings 
similar  grief  he  feels  that 

"  Today  they  count  as  kindred  souls ; 
They  know  me  not,  but  mourn  with  me." 

The  poet's  family  has  to  bid  farewell  to  its 

old   home    in   Lincolnshire,    and   the 
c.  . 

scenes  amid  which  he  has  so  often 

wandered  with  his  friend.     The  presence  of 

the  dear  one  is  everywhere  : 

"  I  find  no  place  that  does  not  breathe 
Some  gracious  memory  of  my  friend." 

"  And,  leaving  these,  to  pass  away, 
I  think  once  more  he  seems  to  die." 

The   old   home  will   pass  into  new   hands, 


Change  of  Scene.  93 

which  will  have  no  pious    care  for  the  many 
things    interwoven    with    the   poet's 
most   tender   feelings  —  the   garden, 
the  brook,  the  grove  ; 

"  And  year  by  year  our  memory  fades 
From  all  the  circle  of  the  hills." 
He  is  bound  to  his  native  spot,  not  only  by 
the  associations  of  a  happy  boyhood, 
but  also  by  the  memories  of  blessed 
hours  passed  there  in  converse  with  his  friend, 
and  he  cannot  tell  which  tie  is  the  stronger. 
For  a  time  they  fight  in  his  soul,  but  at  last, 
when  he  turns 

"  To  leave  the  pleasant  fields  and  farms  ; 
They  mix  in  one  another's  arms 
To  one  pure  image  of  regret." 

But  on  the  night  before  leaving  the  old 
home  the  poet  has  a  Dantesque  vis- 
ion of  his  friend,  which  leaves  a  feel- 
ing of  contentment  in  his  soul.  He  dreams 
that  he  is  dwelling  in  a  "  palace  of  art."  In 
the  centre  of  this  stands  a  statue,  which, 
though  veiled,  he  recognizes  to  be  his  friend, 
and  before  which  maidens  play  and  sing  of  all 
that  is  "wise  and  good  and  graceful."  Sud- 
denly a  dove  flies  in,  bearing  "a  summons  from 
the  sea."  The  maidens,  learning  that  he  must 
go,  "  weep  and  wail,"  but  accompany  him  to 
a  "  little  shallop  "  lying  in  the  stream  below. 
The   shallop  glides  down   the   stream,   which 


94  /«  Memoriam. 

ever  widens  between  vaster-growing  banks,  and, 
as  it  does  so,  tlie  maidens  gatlier  strength, 
grace,  and   majesty,  wlrile  tlie   poet   feels   in 

himself 

"  the  thews  of  Anakim,i 
The  pulses  of  a  Titan's  heart," 

and  power  to  sing  the  mightiest  and  deepest 
of  songs.  At  last  they  reach  the  great  Ocean, 
and  see  before  them  a  great,  splendid  ship, 
with  the  lost  one  standing  on  the  deck.  The 
poet  boards  her,  and  falls  in  silence  on  the 
neck  of  his  friend  ;  whereat  the  maidens  wail, 
and  upbraid  him  for  deserting  them,  who  had 
so  long  faithfully  served  him.  He  is  so  rapt 
that  he  pays  no  heed  to  them ;  but  his  friend 
bids  them  come  aboard.     They  do  so, 

"  And  while  the  wind  began  to  sweep 
A  music  out  of  sheet  and  shroud, 
We  steer'd  her  toward  a  crimson  cloud 
That  landlike  slept  along  the  deep." 

This  dream  was,  doubtless,  a  real  expe- 
rience. Still,  there  is  no  mistaking  its  resem- 
blance, in  some  points,  to  the  Palace  of  Art, 
in  others,  to  Recollections  of  the  Arabian  Nights, 
and,  in  others  still,  to  the  Passing  of  Arthur. 
No  one  has  yet  told  us  where  our  dreams  come 
from,  or  whether  they  all  come  from  the  same 
source.  Who  shall  tell  us  ?  Dante,  whose  ex- 
perience in  such  matters, was  deep  and  broad, 
says : 

1  Deuteron.  ix.  2. 


A  Happy  Dream.  95 

"O  Fancy  that  dost  steal  us  so  at  times 

From  outer  things,  that  we  are  unaware 

Though  thousand  trumpets  round  about  us  blare  ! 

What  moveth  thee,  if  sense  afford  thee  naught  ? 

'T  is  light  that  moves  thee,  which  in  heaven  takes 

form, 
Self-moved,  or  else  thro'  will  that  guides  it  down."  ^ 

He  elsewhere  speaks  of  the  hour  at  which 

"  our  mind,  a  pilgrim  most 
From  flesh,  and  least  enthralled  by  thoughts, 
In  power  of  vision  is  well-nigh  divine."  - 

At  all  events,  the  poet  can  console  himself 
with  the  thought  that,  at  the  end  of  his  earthly 
career,  he  will  meet,  face  to  face,  the  friend 
who  has  so  long  stood  a  veiled  statue  in  the 
halls  of  his  soul,  before  whom  every  muse  or 
power  of  his  spirit  has  made  music,  and  that, 
into  the  glorious  ship  of  that  new,  double  life, 
these  powers  will  accompany  him  in  all  their 
integrity. 

1  Purg.,  xvii.  13  sqq. 

2  Purg.,    ix.  16  sqq. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

(civ-cxiv.) 

Though  our  life  at  present  is  full  of  disappoint- 
ment  and  sorrow,  the  poet  will  embrace  it,  and 
let  sorrow  make  him  wise.  The  wisdojn  buried 
with  his  friend.     Knowledge  and  Wisdom. 

Another  Christmas  finds  the  poet  in  a  new 
home,   in  which   he   feels   himself   a 

CIV 

stranger.      Here   too   the    Christmas 
bells  ring  \  but,  alas  ! 

"  Like  strangers'  voices  here  they  sound, 
In  lands  where  not  a  memory  strays. 
Nor  landmark  breathes  of  other  days, 
But  all  is  new  unhallow'd  ground." 

Removal  too  "has  broke  the  bond  of  dying 

use."     This   year  there  shall  be  no 
cv. 

Christmas    celebration,    no   old-fash- 
ioned merriment : 

"  For  who  would  keep  an  ancient  form 
Thro'  which  the  spirit  breathes  no  more  ? " 

He  will  hold  the  night  "  solemn  to  the  past." 
There  shall  be  no  dance  or  motion,  save  that 
of  the  gleaming  worlds  which  brighten  in  the 


Life  accepted  Anew.  97 

cloudless    east,    whose    revolutions    mark   the 
lapse  of  the  ages.     To  these  he  prays  : 
"  Run  out  your  measured  arcs  and  lead 

The  closing  cycle  rich  in  good." 
When  the  midnight  bells  strike  up,  the  poet 
breaks  forth  into  a  song,  exhorting 
them  to  ring  out  the  old  epoch,  with 
all  its  sin,  its  strife,  and  its  suffering,  and  ring 
in  the  better  time.  In  this  noble  song  we 
have  a  foretaste  of  that  fierce  arraignment  of 
the  life  of  the  present  day  which  characterizes 
some  of  the  poet's  later  productions.  Deeply 
religious  by  nature,  like  his  friend  Carlyle,  he 
cannot  reconcile  himself  to  a  life  which,  having 
no  eye  for  the  spiritual  world,  and  no  ear  for 
the  thunders  of  Sinai,  takes  a  golden  calf  for 
its  God,  and  political  economy  for  its  moral 
law.  And  yet  that  is  the  life  which  the  great 
majority  of  mankind  in  our  day  lead.  No 
wonder  that  he  cries  out, 

"  Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land; 

Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be." 

Before  we  can  ever  again  heartily  celebrate 
Christmas,  we  must  have  a  new  Christ.  The 
old  one  is  dead,  leaving  the  festival  but  an 
empty  form.  Rather  than  be  guilty  ^^^^ 
of  the  hypocrisy  of  adhering  to  it, 
he  will  celebrate  the  birthday  of  his  glorified 
friend,  that  living  ideal,  which  fills  his  soul 
with  aspiration  after  all  good. 


98  In  Memoriam. 

"  We  keep  the  day.     With  festal  cheer, 
With  books  and  music,  surely  we 
Will  drink  to  him,  whate'er  he  be, 
And  sing  the  songs  he  loved  to  hear." 

So,  at  least,  he  can  be  sincere. 

But  in  spite  of  the  materialism  and  wretched- 
ness of  the  present  life,  he  will  not 
cvin 

flee  from  it,  shutting  himself  out  from 

his  kind,  like  a  hermit,  or  stiffening  into  stone 
with  grief,  like  Niobe.  "  Faith  without  works 
is  dead";  vacant  aspiration  utterly  profitless. 
However  potent  a  man's  yearning  be,  he  can 
imagine  nothing  in  the  highest  heaven  but  his 
"  own  phantom  chanting  hymns  "  ;  nothing  in 
the  deepest  abyss  of  death  but  "  the  reflex  of 
a  human  face."  -^  Instead  of  spending  his  days 
in  selfish,  contemptuous  seclusion,  he  will  ac- 
cept human  life  as  he  finds  it,  with  all  its 
disappointments  and  sorrows.  These  will,  at 
least,  teach  him  some  of  the  wisdom  which  his 
friend  held  in  store. 

"  'T  is  held  that  sorrow  makes  us  wise, 
Whatever  wisdom  sleep  with  thee." 

1  Omar  Khayyam   has  expressed  this  thought  very 
forcibly,  though  in  a  different  spirit : 

"  I  sent  my  Soul  through  the  Invisible, 
Some  letter  of  the  After-life  to  spell: 

And  by  and  by  my  Soul  return'd  to  me, 
And  answered  '  I  Myself  am  Heav'n  and  Hell ': 

"  Heav'n  but  the  Vision  of  fulfill'd  Desire, 
And  Hell  the  Shadow  of  a  Soul  on  fire, 

Cast  on  the  Darkness,  into  which  Ourselves, 
So  late  emerg'd  from,  shall  so  soon  expire." 


The  Friend's  Wortli.  99 

But,  alas  !  how  much  wisdom  does  so  sleep ! 
And  he  proceeds  to  describe,  in  words 

CIX 

such    as   only   love   can   dictate,  his 
friend's   intellect,    eloquence,    artistic   insight, 
lofty  aspiration,    moral    purity,   profound   but 
temperate  love  of  freedom,  and,  last,  his  manly 
tenderness  : 

"  And  manhood  fused  with  female  grace 
In  such  a  sort,  the  child  would  twine 
A  trustful  hand,  unask'd,  in  thine, 
And  find  his  comfort  in  thy  face." 

All  these  aspects  of  wisdom  the  poet  has  seen 

and  loved.     Shall  they  remain  without  effect 

upon  him,  merely  because  the  bearer  of  them 

has  been  removed  from  sight  ?    Surely  not ;  and 

he  goes  on  to  describe  the  power  exerted  by 

his  friend's  wisdom  upon  all  classes 

ex 
of   men,   old    and   young,  weak   and 

strong,  loyal  and  proud,  the  fawning  hypocrite, 
the  stern,  the  flippant,  the  brazen  fool,  and 
lastly  upon  himself,  in  whom  it  woke  deep,  un- 
fathomable spiritual  love 

"  that  will  not  tire, 
And,  born  of  love,  the  vague  desire 
That  spurs  an  imitative  will." 

All  this  wisdom  was  simple  and  genuine,  the 
outcome  of  a  "  high  nature,  amorous 
of  the  good,"  no  mere  hypocrisy  or 
play-acting,  such  as  the  "churP  in  spirit"  may 

1  Eorlas  and  ceorlas,  earls  and  churls,  is  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  for  "geritle  and  simple." 


100  In  Memoviam. 

practise  for  fashion's  sake.  It  was  no  mere 
veneer  covering  a  coarse,  coltish  nature,  but 
"the  native  growth  of  noble  mind,"  of  a  soul 
looking  out  from  an  eye 

"  Where  God  and  Nature  met  in  light ; 

"And  thus  he  bore  without  abuse 

The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman,^ 
Defamed  by  every  charlatan, 
And  soil'd  with  all  ignoble  use." 

Having   seen    such    a    miracle   of    perfection, 
such  a  "novel  power,"  so  unlike  any- 
thing  else   he   has    ever   known,    he 
finds  it  hard  to  rise  to  any  enthusiasm  for  the 
"  glorious    insufficiencies  "    of   other   persons. 
His  friend  was  like  a  cloud-compelling  Jove, 
ruling  the  tempests  of  thought,  and  by  faith 
making  serene  the  heaven  of  the  soul.     What 
might  not  have  been  expected  in  the 

CXIII. 

future  from  such  a  man  ?  The  thought 
that  Sorrow  is  the  nurse  of  Wisdom  does  not 
quite  console  the  poet  for  the  disappointed 
hopes  of  the  world. 

"  'T  is  held  that  sorrow  makes  us  wise  ; 

Yet  how  much  wisdom  sleeps  with  thee 
Which  not  alone  had  guided  me, 
But  served  the  seasons  that  may  rise." 

The  "might-have-been  "  still  looms  up  in  glori- 
ous   regret-bringing   proportions    before    him. 

^  See  note  on  p.  99. 


The  Friend' s  Worth.  loi 

He  sees  his  friend  a  pillar  of  state,  the  hero 
of  his  age,  by  his  example  and  energy  guiding 
humanity  through  tempest  and  shock  of  ration- 
alism and  revolt  to  a  loftier  plane  of  life,  with 
nobler  issues.  Here  the  poet  clearly  realizes 
the  nature  of  the  conflict  in  which  the  world 
is  now  engaged.  It  is  a  conflict  between  two 
powers  of  the  soul,  understanding  and  faith, 
or  knowledge  and  wisdom.  Faith  or  wisdom 
has  to  embody  itself  in  an  institution  ^\ith 
symbolic  observances,  ere  it  can  appeal  to  the 
mass  of  mankind.  Such  an  institution,  if  it  is 
not  carefully  watched,  and  its  symbolism  pre- 
vented from  being  taken  for  the  thing  sym- 
bolized, is  sure  to  arrogate  to  itself  divine 
authority  and  encroach  upon  the  institutions 
of  the  understanding.  In  a  word,  the  Church 
continually  tends  to  encroach  upon  the  State, 
in  virtue  of  a  pretended  divine  authority,  and 
the  State  under  this  influence  continually  tends 
to  claim  authority  by  the  grace  of  God.  It 
was  against  these  tendencies  that  Dante  wrote 
his  De  Monarc/iia,  the  first  great  political  trea- 
tise of  the  modern  world,  and  directed  the  bit- 
terest invectives  of  his  Divine  Comedy}  It  is 
these  tendencies  that  in  recent  times  have 
brought  about  Rationalism,  that  revolt  of  the 
understanding  against  the  higher  reason.  In 
rebelling  against  the  degenerate  institutions  of 

^  See  Parad.,  xxviii. 


102  In  Mcmoriam. 

reason,  the  understanding  has  rebelled  against 
reason  itself,  and  so  men  have  lost  hold  of  the 
spiritual  and  the  divine,  and  sought  to  content 
themselves  with  the  material  and  the  animal. 
This  is  the  origin  of  the  current  philosophies, 
falsely  so  called,  of  our  time,  Comtism,  Spen- 
cerism,  and  the  rest,  and  of  all  the  anarchic 
ideas,  social  and  political,  which  daily  crop  up 
everywhere.  Against  these  rationalistic  and 
materialistic  philosophies  and  their  implica- 
tions, Tennyson,  like  Carlyle,  has  made  a  life- 
long protest,  proclaiming  that  Faith  or  Wisdom 
is  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  temporary  in- 
stitutions which  claim  to  embody  it,  but  is  to 
be  embraced,  hoarded,  and  tended,  as  man's 
supreme  treasure,  though  all  institutions  should 
perish.  It  is  the  Christ  that  was  and  "  the 
Christ  that  is  to  be,"  "  the  Saviour  of  life  unto 
life." 

No  one,  the  poet  admits,  would  think  of 
disparaging  Knowledge,  of  railing 
against  her  beauty,  or  of  setting  lim- 
its to  her  progress  in  any  region  where  she  is 
fitted  to  go.  But,  in  her  revolt  against  Faith, 
she  is  like  a  vain,  wanton  boy  that  has  just 
escaped  from  his  mother's  apron-string.  She 
rushes  heedlessly  on 

"  And  leaps  into  the  future  chance, 
Submitting  all  things  to  desire." 

And  so,   to  quote  from   Mrs.  Browning's  de- 


Knowledge  and  Wisdojn.  103 

scription  of  the  French,  the  votaries  of  Know- 
ledge 

"  threaten  conflagration  to  the  world, 
And  rush  with  most  unscrupulous  logic  on 
Impossible  practice."  ^ 

This  must  not  be.  Knowledge  must  learn  her 
place,  learn  that 

"  She  is  the  second,  not  the  first."  ^ 

She  cannot  attain  any  of  those  truths  that  give 
value  and  meaning  to  life  ;  hence,  unless  life 
is  to  lose  its  aim,  she,  who  is  the  child  of 
the  mind  only,  must  consent  to  be  guided  by 
Wisdom,  the  child  of  the  whole  soul.  Higher 
and  truer  than  any  clear  conclusion  which  the 
understanding  can  draw  from  the  physical 
facts  of  Nature  is  the  dim,  half-formulated 
conclusion  which  the  soul  draws  in  response 
to  its  total  experience  physical  and  spiritual. 
And  the  poet,  addressing  his  friend,  prays : 

"  I  would  the  great  world  grew  like  thee, 
Who  grewest  not  alone  in  power 
And  knowledge,  but  by  year  and  hour 
In  reverence  and  in  charity." 

^  Aurora  Leigh,  Bk.  VI. 

2  Compare  Prologue,  vv.  5-8,  and  the  poem,  "  Love 
thou  thy  Land  with  Love  far-brought."  (v.  5.) 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

(cxv-cxxiv.) 

The  return  of  spring  reazvakens  hope,  which  soon 
ripens  into  faith  and  confidence. 

Amid  the  new  scenes  into  which  the  poet 

has  moved   the   sprins;  returns,   and 
cxv.         .      .  .  . 

this  time  enters  even  into  his  breast 

with  its  inspiring  promise,  making  the  deep 
regret   planted   there   blossom    like    an    April 
violet.     But  blossoming  regret  is  not  the  only- 
flower   in    the   spring-garden   of    the 
cxvi. 

poet's  heart.  Faith  and  hope  blos- 
som too.     The  music,  stir,  and  life  of  spring 

"  Cry  thro'  the  sense  to  hearten  trust 
In  that  which  made  the  world  so  fair." 

Regret  for  the  "  days  of  happy  commune  dead  " 
is  still  there ;  but  it  grows  weak  in  proportion 
as  faith  waxes  strong.  The  past,  with  all  its 
rare,  lost  delights,  fades,  as  the  more  glorious, 
spiritual  future,  with  still  rarer  delights,  looms 
up  in  the  soul.     In  this  mood  he  is 

CXVII 

ready  to  be  grateful  for  the  temporary 
separation  from  his  friend,  since  it  will  only 
serve  to  make  reunion  more  blissful. 


spring  and  Nature.  1 05 

"  O  days  and  hours,  your  work  is  this, 
To  hold  me  from  my  proper  place, 
A  little  while  from  his  embrace, 
For  fuller  gain  of  after  bliss." 

Bliss  is  deepened  by  contrast  with  misery. 

Nature,  when  he  last  consulted  her,  in  his 
dark  mood  (Iv.,  Ivi.),  suggested  only 
thoughts  of  despair ;  now,  in  his 
brighter  mood,  he  can  draw  from  her  sugges- 
tions of  hope.  Then  he  had  only  regarded 
the  dead  forms  of  Nature ;  now,  he  contem- 
plates the  whole  of  her  living  process,  and 
finds  that  she  is  no  feeble  thing,  but  a  "  giant 
laboring  in  his  youth."  Human  love  and 
truth  are  part  of  that  living  process,  and  have 
no  resemblance  to  the  "  earth  and  lime  "  of 
the  fossil  skeletons  of  extinct  animals.  The 
bearers  of  this  love  and  truth,  though  they 
have  left  their  dust  behind  them,  and  become 
to  us  invisible,  we  may  trust, 

"  Are  breathers  of  an  ampler  day 
For  ever  nobler  ends." 

The  process  of  Nature  is  an  endless  develop- 
ment from  lower  to  higher ;  and  this  process 
accomplishes  itself,  not  only  in  the  race  as  a 
whole,  but  in  the  individual,  if  he  will  only 
take  it  up  and  realize  it  in  himself : 
"  If  so  he  type  this  work  of  time 

"  Within  himself,  from  more  to  more." 
But  this  is  no  easy  task,  to  be  achieved  by  a 


io6  In  Memoriam. 

man  who  lies  still  like  "idle  ore."  It  demands 
one  who  is  prepared  to  be  as 

"  iron  dug  from  central  gloom, 
And  heated  hot  with  burning  fears, 
And  dipt  in  baths  of  hissing  tears, 
And  batter'd  with  the  shocks  of  doom 

"  To  shape  and  use." 

Such  a  man  will  "  move  his  course  " 

"  crown'd  with  attributes  of  woe 
Like  glories." 

And  the  poet  calls  upon  men  to 

"  Arise  and  fly 
The  reeling  Faun,  the  sensual  feast ; 
Move  upward,  working  out  the  beast, 
And  let  the  ape  and  tiger  die." 

Man's  salvation  depends  upon  his  becoming  a 
microcosm,  and  realizing  the  whole  universe 
and  all  the  process  of  it  within  himself;  for 
only  the  universal  is  eternal. 

"  Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how; 
Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  thine."  ^ 

In  this  exalted  frame  of  mind,  he  can  now 
return  with  delight  to  the  old  home 
of  his  friend. 

1  Prologue,  V.  4.     Compare  Swinburne's  lines  : 
"  Unto  each  man  his  handiwork,  unto  each  his  crown 
The  just  Fate  gives; 
Whoso  takes  upon  him  the  world's  life,  and  his  own  lays  down, 
He,  dying  so,  lives." 

Super  Flumina  Babylonis. 


Conditions  of  Immortality.  107 

"  Not  as  one  who  weeps 
I  come  once  more." 

He  no  longer  finds  "  the  long  unlovely  street  " 
(vii.) ;  no  longer 

"  ghastly  thro'  the  drizzhng  rain 
On  the  bald  street  breaks  the  blank  day." 

He  can  now  "smell  the  meadow  in  the  street," 
and  feel  all  the  charm  of  awakening  nature ; 

"  And  in  my  thoughts  with  scarce  a  sigh 
I  take  the  pressure  of  thine  hand." 

After   much   struggle   with   doubt   born   of 

sorrow,   the   poet   has    at   last   come 

cxx 
back  to  entire  conviction  of  the  truth 

of  immortality.     The  law  of  justice  revealed 

in  his  own  soul  proclaims  the  annihilation  of 

that  which  has  love  and  faith  to  be  a  moral 

absurdity.      The    materialistic    philosophy   of 

Locke  and  his  followers,  which  rules  our  time 

and  claims  to  be  confirmed  by  science,  is  a 

cruel    error   based    upon    imperfect    thinking. 

The  spiritual   is  not  a  mere  function  of  the 

material,  a  harmony  of  nerve-fibres.     It  is  the 

true   reality,  to  which  the   material   is   but   a 

vision.     As  Thomas  Aquinas  so  well  puts  it, 

"  The  soul  is  not  in  the  body  as  the  contained, 

but  as  the  container."  ^    If  science  could  prove 

^  Sum.  TheoL,  I.  q.  52,  art.  i.  Compare  Carlyle's  in- 
dignant protest :  "  Can  th-e  Earth,  which  is  but  dead 
and  a  vision,  resist  Spirits,  which  have  reality  and  are 
alive.''"  — Sartor  Resartiis,  Bk.  III.  chap.  viii. 


io8  In  Memoriarn. 

that  we  are  "wholly  brain,  magnetic  mock- 
eries," "  cunning  casts  in  clay,"  then  what 
would  be  the  use  of  science  to  such  transient 
phantoms  ?  Such  a  thing  may  be  good  for 
apes ;  but  no  man  with  the  aspirations  of  a 
man  would  tolerate  it.  Death,  which  so  fright- 
ens the  timid  soul,  is  but  as  the  even- 

CXXI 

ing-star  sinking  below  the  horizon,  to 
rise  again  with  renewed  vigor  and  freshness, 
as  the  morning-star,  to  usher  in  a  new  dawn, 
Hesper  and  Phosphor  are  the  same  star  in 
different  places.  One  is  here  reminded  of 
Sappho's  beautiful  line, 

"  Hesper,  thou  bringest  all  that  the  glimmering  Dawn 
dispersed  " ;  i 

and  of  Plato's  elegiacs,  so  exquisitely  rendered 
by  Shelley : 

"  Thou  wert  the  morning  star  among  the  living, 
Ere  thy  fair  light  had  fled  :  — 
Now,  having  died,  thou  art  as  Hesperus,  giving 
New  splendor  to  the  dead."  ^ 

The   poet   can    now  revert  with  faith  to   his 

trance   (xcv.),  which  was  "cancell'd, 

stricken  thro'  with  doubt."     He  can 

believe    that    in    that   wonderful    experience, 

wherein  he  became  conscious  of  the  all-pervad- 

•  fe'cTTrepe,  Tracra  (^f'peis  ocra  iftaivoMi  e<TKeSa(r'  Au(oj. 

Frag.  95  ( Bergk).    - 
^  'AcTTTjp  TTpXi/  fj.ev  eAa/ULTre?  cr-'t  ^woltjiu  'Ecuos, 
vvv  Se  Bavuiu  Ao/iTrets  "EcTTrepos  ev  (fiSifievoti;. 

Epigr.  IS  (Bergk). 


FaitJi  Restored.  IC9 

ing  law  of  the  universe,  his  soul  was  really 
wrapt  round  by  that  of  his  friend.  If  so,  he 
begs  him  to  come  to  him  now,  invading  heart 
and  head  : 

"  And  enter  in  at  breast  and  brow," 

so  that,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  a  vernal  faith, 
"  as  in  the  former  flash  of  joy "  (xcv.  9),  he 
may  rise  above  the  phenomenal  world  of  life 
and  death,  into  the  world  of  pure,  eternal 
ideas,  the  souls  and  sources  of  all  glory  and 
all  beauty.  From  that  watch-tower  of  the 
angels  he  can  look  calmly  upon  the 

CXXIII. 

world  of  change,  and  defy  its  cruel 
suggestions.     He   was   wrong    in    questioning 
Nature  at  all  respecting  the  spirit's  destiny. 
To  her  spirit  means  but  breath  ; 

"  But  in  my  spirit  will  I  dwell, 

And  dream  my  dream,  and  hold  it  true ; 
For  tho'  my  lips  may  breathe  adieu, 
I  cannot  think  the  thing  farewell." 

At  last  he  sees  that  the  annihilation  of  a  self- 
conscious  spirit  is  utterly  unthinkable.  But  it 
is  not  in  nature  or  to  the  understanding  that 
this  is  revealed  :  it  is  in  spirit  and  to 

CXXIV. 

faith.     Nay,  it  is  only  there  that  God 
Himself  is  to  be  discovered, 

"  I  found  Him  not  in  world  or  sun, 
Or  eagle's  wing,  or  insect's  eye ; 
Nor  thro'  the  questions  men  may  try, 
The  petty  cobwebs  we  have  spun." 


no  In  Memoriam. 

Nay,  the  understanding  cannot  even  tell 
whether  God  is  to  be  thought  as  "  He,  They, 
One,"  or  "  All,"  whether  as  "  within  "  or  "  with- 
out." In  other  words,  it  cannot  decide  be- 
tween Theism,  Polytheism,  Monotheism,  and 
Pantheism,^  or  tell  us  whether  God  is  imma- 
nent or  transcendent.  It  is  in  the  heart  that 
God  is  to  be  found.  When  the  understanding 
says  there  is  no  God,  or  that  God  is  beyond 
human  apprehension,  the  heart  rises  up  "  like 
a  man  in  wrath,"  —  "  no,  like  a  child  in  doubt 
and  fear,"  and  answers  :  "  '  I  have  felt,'  "  that 
is,  I  have  had  experience,  w^iich  no  bugbears 
of  nature  or  subtleties  of  understanding  can 
ever  make  me  disown  or  discredit.  The  very 
rebellion  of  the  heart  against  the  head,  of 
reason  against  understanding,  is  the  work  of 
the  God  within  or  present : 

"  that  blind  clamor  made  me  wise ; 
Then  was  I  as  a  child  that  cries, 
But,  crying,  knows  his  father  near ; 

"And  what  I  am-  beheld  again 

What  is,  and  no  man  understands ; 

1  Goethe,  writing  to  Jacobi  in  1813,  says:  "I,  for 
my  part,  with  the  manifold  tendencies  of  my  nature,  do 
not  find  one  aspect  of  the  divine  enough.  As  a  poet,  I 
am  a  polytheist  ;  as  an  investigator  of  nature,  I  am  a 
pantheist,  and  both  in  the  same  degree.  If  I  require  a 
personal  God  for  my  personality  as  a  moral  being,  this 
also  is  provided  for  in  my  mental  constitution!''' 

2  The  earlier  editions  read  '  seem  '  for  'am '  here. 


Understanding  and  Reason.  1 1 1 

And  out  of  darkness  came  the  hands 
That  reach  thro'  nature,  moulding  men." 

The  deep  intuition  which  tells  us  that  things  are 
as  they  are  (for  example,  that  the  will  is  free) 
is  not  to  be  shaken  or  undermined  by  the  im- 
potence of  the  understanding  to  comprehend 
hoiu  or  why  they  are  as  they  are.  Under- 
standing in  all  cases  makes  an  appeal  to  the 
imagination,  and  within  the  jurisdiction  of  that 
the  things  of  the  spirit  do  not  come. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

(cxxv-cxxxi.) 

Faith,  Hope,  and  Love  all  intact     The  greatest 
is  Love,  without  which  Faith  would  be  weak. 

Hope  being  now  restored,  the  poet  recog- 
nizes that,  in  all  his  dark  surmisings, 

cxxv. 

he  has  never  really  lost  her  : 

"  She  did  but  look  thro'  dimmer  eyes  ; 
Or  Love  but  play'd  with  gracious  lies,i 
Because  he  felt  so  fix'd  in  truth." 

But  whatever  he  may  have  said  or  sung  was 
inspired  by  the  spirit  of  the  matchless  friend, 
who,  he  now  knows,  will  be  with  him  until  they 
embrace  again  on  "the  mystic  deeps,"  on  the 
deck  of  that  great  ship  which  steers  across  the 
ocean  of  eternity  (ciii.).    In  all  that  he 

CXXVI 

has  done,  or  yet  does.  Love  has  been 
his  Lord  and  King,^  and,  under  the  guardian- 

1  Compare  Dante's  definition  of  allegory  —  "a  truth 
hidden  under  a  beautiful  lie."     {Feast,  Tr.  II.  chap,  i.) 

2  Dante  speaking  of  his  first  meeting  with  Beatrice, 
says  :  "  From  that  time  on  I  say  that  Love  was  Lord  of 
my  soul,  which  was  thus  early  wedded  to  him,  and  he 
began  to  assume  such  assurance  and  such  lordship  over 


The  CJiristimi  Graces  intact.  113 

ship  of  that  king,  he  can  sleep  securely  through 
the  darkness  of  this  flesh-blinded  mortal  life, 

"And  hear  at  times  a  sentinel 

Who  moves  about  from  place  to  place, 
And  whispers  to  the  worlds  of  space, 
In  the  deep  night,  that  all  is  well. 

"  And  all  is  well,  tho'  faith  and  form 
Be  sunder'd  in  the  night  of  fear." 

"We  walk  by  faith,  and  not  by  form."     The 
faith  which  belongs  to  the  reason  has, 

CXXVII. 

in  these  dark  times  of  ours,  been  sun- 
dered from  the  form  which  belongs  to  the  un- 
derstanding. Our  hearts  are  at  war  with  our 
heads.  Our  hearts  imperiously  demand  justice 
and  ultimate  good  for  all ;  our  heads  are  puz- 
zled when  we  see  injustice  triumphing  and 
thousands  of  our  fellow  beings,  who  have 
fought  for  justice,  perishing  in  what  seems  a 
hopeless  struggle.  But  it  is  only  to  our  con- 
tracted vision  that  it  seems  hopeless.  If  we 
would  but  open  the  ears  of  Faith,  we  should 
hear  "  a  deeper  voice  across  the  storm "  of 
convulsion,  proclaiming  the  ultimate  triumph 

me,  through  the  power  which  my  imagination  gave  him, 
that  I  was  obliged  to  do  all  his  pleasure  completely." 
New  Life,  chap.  i.  In  many  other  places  of  this  book 
Dante  speaks  of  Love  as  his  Lord.  Compare  Purgatory, 
xxiv.  52  sqq. 

"  I  am  one  who,  when 

Love  breathes,  record,  and  in  whatever  mood 

He  dictates  in  my  heart,  I  signify." 


114  ■^■'^  Me7noriam. 

of  truth  and  justice,  no  matter  if  three  more 
French  Revolutions,  each  bloodier  than  an- 
other, should  have  to  be  passed  through  first. 
True,  the  times  look  threatening  for  that  order 
of  things  which  produced  the  king  and  the 
beggar,  the  extremes  of  wealth  and  poverty. 
"  The  great  ^^on  "  of  "  social  lies  that  warp 
us  from  the  living  truth," 

"  sinks  in  blood, 
"  And  compass'd  by  the  fires  of  Hell "  ; 

but  the  glorified  friend,  who  looks  at  the  tu- 
mult from  the  heights  of  divine  vision,  smiles, 
'■'■  knowing  tAX  is  well,"  not  merely  believing  it. 
And  so  would  each  of  us,  if  we  could  reach 
those  heights. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  better  commentary 
upon  this  passage  than  the  closing  words  of 
Progress  and  Poverty :  "  Though  Truth  and 
Right  seem  often  overborne,  we  may  not  see 
it  all.  How  can  we  see  it  all  ?  .  .  .  Shall  we 
say  that  what  passes  from  our  sight  passes 
into  oblivion  ?  No ;  not  into  oblivion.  Far, 
far  beyond  our  ken  the  eternal  laws  must  hold 
their  sway. 

"The  hope  that  rises  in  the  heart  of  all 
religions  !  The  poets  have  sung  it,  the  seers 
have  told  it,  and  in  its  deepest  pulses  the 
heart  of  man  throbs  responsive  to  its  truth. 
This  that  Plutarch  said  is  what  in  all  times 


Ultimate  TriiimpJi  of  ynsticc.       1 1 5 

and  in  all  tongues  has  been  said  by  the  pure- 
hearted  and  strong-sighted,  who,  standing,  as 
it  were,  on  the  mountain-tops  of  thought  and 
looking  over  the  shadowy  ocean,  have  beheld 
the  loom  of  land  : 

" '  Men's  souls,  encompass'd  here  with  bod- 
ies and  passions,  have  no  communication  with 
God,  except  what  they  can  reach  to  in  concep- 
tion only,  by  means  of  philosophy  as  a  kind 
of  obscure  dream.  But,  when  they  are  loosed 
from  the  body  and  removed  into  the  unseen, 
invisible,  impassible,  and  pure  region,  this  God 
is  then  their  leader  and  king ;  they  there,  as  it 
were,  hanging  on  Him  wholly,  and  beholding 
without  weariness  and  passionately  affecting 
that  beauty  which  cannot  be  expressed  or 
uttered  by  men.'  " 

What,  then,  is  it  that  reconciles  Understand- 
ing: and    Faith  ?     What  has  enabled 

CXXVIII. 

the  poet  to  see  the  world  of  the  Un- 
derstanding through  the  eyes  of  Faith  ?  It  is 
Love,  Love  strong  enough  to  conquer  Death, 
and  dispel  his  phantoms.  In  conquering 
Death,  Love  has  taken  away  the  prestige  of 
the  Understanding,  which  proclaims  Death  as 
the  Lord  of  all  things,  and  has  handed  over 
the  victory  to  its  weaker  brother,  "  the  lesser 
faith."  ^     And  victory  in  one  point  is  victory 

^  But  now  abideth  faith,  hope,  love,  these  three ;  and 
the  greatest  of  these  is  love.  —  i  Corinth,  xiii.  13. 


1 1 6  1)1  Memoriam. 

in  all.  Faith,  thus  enthroned,  is  able  to  see 
one  consistent  purpose  in  the  universe.  The 
epochs  of  history  are  not  merely  so  many  aim- 
less processions  round  the  same  weary  race- 
course, so  many  variations  of  an  old  theme 
compounded  of  strife,  delusion,  schism,  mum- 
mery, revolution,  pedantry,  and  sentimentality.^ 
If  they  were,  they  would  deserve  only  scorn. 
But,  says  the  faith-enlightened  poet, 

"  I  see  in  part 
That  all,  as  in  some  piece  of  art, 
Is  toil  cooperant  to  an  end." 

This,  then,  if  we  may  so  speak,  is  the  philo- 
sophical theory  of  In  Memoriam.  That  higher 
insight  which  we  call  faith,  and  upon  which 
we  depend  for  the  most  vital  truths,  is  feeble 
when  dissociated  from  love.  Only  through 
love  strong  enough  to  burn  away  the  last 
shred  of  passion  and,  becoming  purely  spirit- 
ual, to  lay  hold  upon  the  eternal  in  its  object 
can  the  power  of  the  death-threatening  under- 
standing be  s-ubdued,  and  man  become  con- 
vinced that  in  the  universe  "  all  is  well  "  for- 
ever, that  his  deepest  and  noblest  aspirations 
will  find  satisfaction  in  eternity.  It  is  through 
love  that  man  rises  to  faith,  and  through  faith 
that  he  rises  to   God,  "from  whom  is  every 

1  One  calls  to  mind  here  the  saying  of  Herakleitos : 
"  The  .^on  is  a  child  playing  at  draughts  :  to  a  child 
belongs  the  sovereignty."     (Frag.,  Ixxix.  edit.  Bywater.) 


Love,  Faif/i,  God.  117 

good  and  perfect  gift."  This  seems  to  be  the 
last  word  of  all  the  great  philosophical  poems 
of  the  world.  It  is  the  last  word  of  that  great 
drama,  the  philosophical  system  of  Plato ;  ^  it 
is  the  last  word  of  Dante's  Divine  Comedy  .-"^  it 
is  the  last  word  of  Goethe's  Faust, -^  yea,  it  is 
the  last  word  of  that  great  world-epic,  the 
Christian  religion,  as  embodied  in  its  true  dis- 
ciples.* It  follows  that  the  greatest  loss  which 
can  befall  a  human  being  is  the  loss  of  love. 

Strong  in  love-begotten  faith,  the  poet  now 
addresses  his  friend  as  an  omnipres- 

CXXIX. 

ent  spirit,  far  off,  yet  near;  known, 
yet  unknown ;  human,  yet  divine ;  dead,  yet 
immortal  ;  lost,  yet  eternally  his  —  "  Mine, 
mine  forever,  ever  mine."  He  is  now  "loved 
deeplier,  darklier  understood,"  loved  most 
when  good  is  most  clearly  distinguished  from 
evil.  Like  Dante's  Beatrice,  he  has  become  a 
spiritual  form  for  the  divine  itself,  the  form 
suited  to  the  poet's  particular  need. 

"  Behold,  I  dream  a  dream  of  good, 
And  mingle  all  the  world  with  thee." 

The  divine  loveliness  takes  as  many  forms  as 

1  See  Lysis,  Phaidros,  Symposioii,  etc. 

2  "  Ma  gia  volgeva  il  mio  disiro  e  '1  velle, 

Si  come  ruota  che  igualmente  e  mossa, 

L'  Amor  che  muove  il  Sole  e  I'altre  stelle." 

•*  "  Das  Ewig-Weibliche 

Zieht  uns  hinan." 

^  He  that  loveth  not  knoweth  not  God;  for  God  is 

love.  —  I  John.iv.  8. 


Ii8  In  Mevioriam. 

there  are  hearts,  and  "  he  that  loves  not  a 
brother  whom  he  hath  seen,  cannot  love  God 
whom  he  hath  not  seen." 

The  lost  one,   now  realized    as  having  as- 
cended   from    flesh   to    spirit,^   from 
cxxx 

space  and  time  to  infinity  and  eter- 
nity, is  recognized  as  a  diffusive  power  in  the 
whole  of  nature,  —  not  understood,  but  felt 
and  loved  deeply,  darkly. 

"  My  love  involves  the  love  before ; 
My  love  is  vaster  passion  now  ; 
Tho'  mix'd  with  God  and  Nature  thou, 
I  seem  to  love  thee  more  and  more."  ^ 

The  poem  closes  with  a  prayer,  than  which 
there  is  nothing  more  nobly  religious 

CXXXI  y  o 

in  all  literature.  It  is  addressed,  not 
to  any  external  God,  but  to  the  God  within,  to 
that  "  heaven-descended,"  "  living  Will,"  which 
is  the  essence  of  human  personality,  and  which 
will  endure 

"When  all  that  seems  shall  suffer  shock," ^ 

when  the  phenomenal  world  of  sense  shall  be 
rolled  up  like  a  scroll.  The  poet  calls  upon  it 
to  rise,  like  a  fountain,  in  the  "  spiritual  rock," 
to  "flow  thro'  our  deeds  and  make  them  pure," 

1  Dante,  Pnrg.,  xxx.  127. 

2  Compare  Prologue,  v.  10. 

"  I  trust  he  lives  in  thee,  and  there 
I  find  him  worthier  to  be  loved." 

2  Compare  the  poem  entitled  Will. 


Love  spiritualized.  119 

so  that  we  may  be  able  to  rise  above  the 
mechanical  world  of  dust,  into  a  moral  world 
of  spirit,  there  to  enter  into  conscious  rela- 
tions with  the  Infinite,  the  source  of  all  life  and 
action,  and,  through  a  faith  born  of  self-con- 
trol, may  trust  "  the  truths  that  never  can  be 
proved,"  until,  in  boundless  love,  we  embrace, 
and  become  one  with,  the  Absolute  Love. 
Then  we  shall  see 

"  internalized, 
By  Love  into  a  single  volume  bound. 
All  that  is  outered  in  the  universe."  1 

Then  all  the  powers  of  the  spirit  will  be 
gathered  into  a 

"  Light  intellectual,  filled  full  of  love, 

Love  of  true  good,  filled  full  of  jo^-fulness, 
A  joyfulness  transcending  all  things  sweet."  ^ 

1  Dante,  Parad.,  xxxiii.  85  sqq. 

2  Ibid.,  XXX.  40  sqq.     This  verse  was  a  favorite  with 
Arthur  Hallam.     See  his  Hemains,  p.  145. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Epilogue. 

The  Neto  Life,  full  of  joy  and  assurance.     The 
Divine  F?-ocess.     Conclusion. 

The  poet's  moral  world  is  now  completely 
restored.  He  can  act  with  assurance,  as  a 
man  among  men.  He  is  happy.  In  this 
mood  he  celebrates  the  wedding  of  his  sister 
Cecilia  to  Edmvmd  Law  Lushington,  in  a  kind 
of  Epithalamium,  which  forms  an  appropriate 
Epilogue  to  the  poem.  It  is  a  picture  of  the 
New  Life  that  has  triumphed  over  death  and 
doubt.  Without  it,  the  work  would  be  incom- 
plete. In  the  marriage  of  his  sister  the  poet 
sees  revealed  that  world-process  by  which  Love 
lifts  man  out  of  sense  and  passion  into  spiritu- 
ality and  self-devotion  —  up  to  the  measure  of 
divine  manhood,  of  which  his  friend  was  a  type 
and  an  earnest.  That  friend  now  lives  in  God, 
who  is  life  and  love  — 

"  That  God,  which  ever  lives  and  loves, 
One  God,  one  law,  one  element, 
And  one  far-off  divine  event, 
To  which  the  whole  creation  moves." 


Neiv  Life.  I2i 

Much  might  be  said  of  these  Unes,  which  ex- 
press the  poet's  view  of  what  is  deepest  in  the 
universe.  By  speaking  of  God  as  "which,"  he 
piously  refrains  from  attributing  to  him  person- 
ality in  any  form  that  would  mean  anything  to 
us.  No  better  commentary  on  this  could  be 
found  than  the  following  passage  from  Emer- 
son's diary  :  '"  I  say  that  I  cannot  find,  when  I 
explore  my  own  consciousness,  any  truth  in 
saying  that  God  is  a  person,  but  the  reverse. 
I  feel  that  there  is  some  profanation  in  saying 
that  he  is  personal.  To  represent  him  as  an 
individual  is  to  shut  him  out  of  my  conscious- 
ness. He  is  then  but  a  great  man,  such  as 
the  crowd  worships.  The  natural  motions  of 
the  soul  are  so  much  better  than  the  voluntary 
ones  that  you  will  never  do  yourself  justice  in 
dispute.  The  thought  is  not  then  taken  hold 
of  '  by  the  right  handle  ' ;  does  not  show  itself 
proportioned  and  in  its  true  bearings.  It 
bears  extorted,  hoarse,  and  half  witness.  I 
have  been  led,  yesterday,  into  a  rambling  ex- 
culpatory talk  on  theism.  I  say  that  here  we 
feel  at  once  that  we  have  no  language ;  that 
words  are  only  auxiliary  and  not  adequate,  are 
suggestions  and  not  copies  of  our  cogitation. 
I  deny  personality  to  God  because  it  is  too 
little,  not  too  much.  Life,  personal  life,  is 
faint  and  cold  to  the  energy  of  God.  For 
Reason  and  Love  and  Beauty,  or  that  which 


122  hi  Mevioriavi. 

is  all  these,  —  it  is  the  life  of  life,  the  reason 
of  reason,  the  love  of  love."  ^ 

In  speaking  of  God  as  Life,  Law,  Element, 
and  End,  the  poet  is  a  faithful  disciple  ot 
Aristotle  ;  for  these  are  neither  more  nor  less 
than  that  philosopher's  four  grounds  or  causes 
(aiTtat),  without  which  nothing  could  exist  at 
all.  They  are  known  familiarly  as  (i)  the 
efficient  cause,  (2)  the  formal  cause,  (3)  the 
material  cause,  and  (4)  the  final  cause.  In 
the  phenomenal  world  they  are,  or  may  be, 
sundered  :  in  God  they  are  united.  The  poet, 
moreover,  follows  his  master  in  making  life 
the  fundamental  cause.  Aristotle  says  :  "  The 
energy  of  Mind  (vovs)  is  life,  and  He  is  that 
energy.  And  self-energy  is  His  best  and  eter- 
nal life.  We  say  that  God  is  living,  eternal, 
best,  so  that  life  and  an  jEon,  perpetual  and 
eternal,  belong  to  God.     For  this  is  God."  ^ 

In  this  last  verse  of  his  poem  the  poet  has 
taken  a  formal  leave  of  the  modern  material- 
istic schools  of  thought  dating  from  Locke, 
which  deny  the  existence  of  teleology  in  the 
world,  and  has  definitely  ranged  himself  on 
the  side  of  that  spiritual  philosophy  which, 
since  the  days  of  Sokrates,  has  accompanied 
and  inspired  the  march  of  civilization,  point- 
ing out  its  goal.     He  stands  with   Sokrates, 

1  Cabot's  iMt-moir  of  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  p.  341. 
-  Mctaph.,  xii.  7  :   1072^  26  sqq. 


Conclusion.  123 

Plato,  Aristotle,  Philo,  Plotinus,  Porphyry, 
Thomas,  Bonaventura,  Rosmini ;  not  with 
Locke,  Hume,  Kant,  Fichte,  Schelling,  Hegel, 
Comte,  Spencer.  He  holds  that  our  life  is 
from  God  to  God,  not  from  dirt  to  dirt,  even 
though  dirt  be  called  Idea. 

But  in  one  point,  and  it  is  a  m.ost  essen- 
tial one,  the  poet  goes  beyond  Aristotle,  and 
includes  in  his  God,  yea,  in  the  life  of  his 
God,  an  element  which  comes  from  Christian 
thought,  and  which  is  the  fundamental  char- 
acteristic of  it  —  Love.  The  energy  of  the 
Christian  god  is  not  merely  life  ;  it  is  also 
and  especially  love.  "God  is  Love."  He  is 
a  god  "  which  ever  lives  and  hnrs."'  It  is 
this  addition  that  has  given  Christianit}'  all  its 
force  and  enabled  it  to  transform  the  world : 
this,  and  this  alone.  It  was,  indeed,  a  won- 
drous new  insight  which  could  recognize  that 
the  very  energy  of  life  itself  is  love,  that  Love 
governs  the  world ;  that  that  which  does  not 
love  is  dead,  however  it  may  be  galvanized 
into  a  semblance  of  life.  As  the  late  Professor 
Green  puts  it :  "  As  the  primar}'  Christian  idea 
is  that  of  a  moral  death  unto  life,  as  ^\Tought 
for  us  and  in  us  by  God,  so  its  realization, 
which  is  the  evidence  of  its  truth,  lies  in 
Christian  love  —  a  realization  never  complete, 
because  forever  embracing  new  matter,  yet 
constantly  gaining  in  fulness."  ^ 

1   The  Witness  of  God,  Works,  vol.  iii.  pp.  236  sq. 


124  ^'i^  Mevioria)ii. 

It  does  not  now  seem  difficult  to  sum  up 
Tennyson's  moral,  life-shaping  world- view : 
God  is  all  in  all,  Life,  Love,  Law,  Substance, 
End.  As  Love,  He  is  self-diffusive,^  creating 
the  world.  Human  love  is  a  manifestation 
of  the  divine  love,  a  portion  of  that  eternal 
energy  forever  working  itself  into  a  unitary, 
yet  manifold,  blessed  self-consciousness,  which 
is  the 

"  one  far-off  divine  event 
To  whicli  the  whole  creation  moves." 

If  we  would  be  co-workers  in  this  process,  and 
share  in  its  completion,  we  must,  in  self-sacri- 
ficing love,  yield  up  our  wills  to  the  divine 
will.  In  such  self-sacrifice  and  "  self-control  " 
Faith  will  grow  till  it  sees  God,  whom  Love 
will  then  embrace  and  absorb.  Then  the  soul 
will  feel  and  say  to  itself,  "  I  and  the  Father 
are  one."  "  We  must  each  become  first  a  man, 
then  a  god."^  Through  will  we  become  the 
one  ;  through  love,  the  other. 

^  St.  Bonaventura  says  finely  :  "  Bonitm  est  diffiisiviivi 
sui^^  (Good  is  self-diffusive). 

^  TlpiaTOV  ovv  &vOp(ii-KOV  Se?  yeytaBai,  r6Te  St  6e6v. 
Hierokles,  Commentary  to  T/ic  Golden  Verses. 


INDEX   TO   IN   MEMORIAM. 


INDEX   TO   IN   MEMORIAM. 


Ode  Stan. 

Ode  Stan,         age 

A. 

73 

■     3- 

In  endless  a. 

ABIDE  (verb) 

AGONY 

5?. 

3- 

A.  a  little  longer  here 

"3 

5- 

With  agonies,  with  en- 

125. 

4- 

Abiding  fix-Ciiuis.  till  I 
sail 

ergies 

AIR 

ABUSE 

9 

3- 

no  ruder  a.  peq^lex 

III. 

6. 

he  bore  without  a. 

12 

33 

4- 
I. 

circle  moaning  in  the  a. 
reach'd  a  purer  a. 

A  BVSS 

86 

I. 

ambrosial  a. 

76. 

2. 

secular  n.  to  come 

89 

2. 

to  all  the  liberals. 

89 

4. 

drink  the  cooler  a. 

ACT  {>ioun) 

94 

3. 

like  a  cloudless  a. 

8S- 

lO 

How  much  of  a.  at 

lOI 

2. 

the  humming  a. 

human   hands 

116 

2. 

the  stirring  a. 

ACT  (verb) 

130 

I. 

the  rolling  a. 

III. 

3- 

who  can  always  a. 

ALLOWANCE 

action: 

51- 

4- 

To  make  a.  for  us  all 

120. 

3- 

shape  His  a.  like  the 

ALTAR-FIRE 

greater  ape 

41- 

I. 

the  heavenward  a. 

ADIEU 

ALTAR-STAIRS 

57- 

4- 

A.  a.  for  evermore 

55- 

4- 

the  great  world's  a. 

ANAKIM. 

127. 

4- 

the  great  M.  sinks  in 
blood 

103. 

8. 

the  thews  of  A. 

ANCHOR 

affection 

103- 

S- 

At  a.  in  the  flood 

85. 

'9- 

My  old  a.  of  the  tomb 

ANGEL 

85. 

20. 

My  old  a.  of  the  tomb 

44. 

4- 

My  guardian  a. 

94- 

I. 

With  what  divine  affec- 
tioHS  bold 

69. 

4- 

a.  of  the  night 

ANGLE 

after-heat 

89. 

10. 

rub  each  other's  angles 

81. 

3- 

might       have      drawn 
from  a. 

down 

ANGUISH 

after-morn 

19- 

4- 

My  deeper  a. 

•03- 

I. 

left  my  a.  content 

ANSWER  (noun) 

56. 

7- 

What  hope  of  a. 

AFTBR-NOON 

85. 

4- 

A  faithful  a. 

89. 

7- 

in  the  all-golden  a. 

103. 

13- 

An  a.  from  my  lips 

126 


Index. 


21. 

3- 

I02. 

4- 

ii8. 

7- 

I20. 

3- 

56. 

2. 

92. 

I. 

22.  2. 

40.  2. 

116.  I. 

105.  7. 

23-  6. 

12.  2. 


13.  I. 

21.  5. 

95.  4. 

95-  13- 

102.  6. 


87.     7. 
loi.     4. 


37-  4. 

49.  I. 

87.  6. 

no.  4. 

128.  6. 


9.     I. 
9-     5- 


ANSWER  {verb) 
Another  answers  "  let 

him  be  " 
The  other  answers 

APE 

let  the  a.  and  tiger  die 
action  like  the  greater  a. 

APPEAL 

makest  thine  a.  to  me 
spake  and  made  a. 

APPLAUSE 

he  for  whose  a.  I  strove 

.^PRIL 

From  A.  ovi\o  A.  went 
Make  A .  of  her  tender 

eyes 
in  sweet  A.  wakes 

ARC 

your  measured  arcs 

ARCADY 

many  a  flute  of  A. 

ARK 

leave  this  mortal  a. 

ARM 

moves  his  doubtful  arms 
reaches  forth  her  arTns 
Laid  their  dark  ar7ns 
Laid  their  dark  arms 
mix   in   one    another's 

arms 

ARROW 

aim  an  a.  fair 
into        silver     arrmus 
break 

ART 

owning  but  a  little  a. 
From  a.  from  nature 
on  mind  and  a. 
the  Christian  a. 
in  some  piece  of  a. 

ARTHUR 

my  lost  y4r^/i«r'i  loved 

remains 
My  A.   whom   I  .shall 

not  see 
My     A .     found    your 

shadows  fair 

ASH  {tree) 
knoll  of  a.  and  haw 


85.     18. 


ASH  {0/ decay) 
18.  I.  from  his  ashes 
34.     I.     dust  and  askes 

ASSOCIATION 

loi.     5.     fresh  a.  blow 

ASSUMPTION 

63.     I.     its    asstunptions  up  to 
heaven 

AUTUMN 

A.  with     a     noise     of 

rooks 
A.    laying    here     and 

there 


AVE 

4.  A.  A.  A.  said 

AWE 

2.     in  placid  a. 
B. 

BABE 

7.     And  bring  her  b. 

BABY 

I.     The  b.  new  to  earth 

BACK 

I.     burden  for  the  b. 

BALL 

1.     grasps  a  golden  b. 

BALLAD 

7.  and  flung  A  b. 

BAND 

I.     ever  break  the  3. 

BANK 

6.      bluff    that     made    the 
banks 

1.  purple-frosty  b. 

BANQUET 

8.  With  h.  in    the  distant 

woods 

2.  To  deck  the  b. 

BAR 

2.  his  birth's  invidious  b. 
10.     The  b.   of  Michael  An- 

gelo 

3.  many  a  sandy  b. 

BARENESS 

5.  make  old  b.  picturesque 


Index. 


127 


4.   I. 

16.  3- 

17.  4. 


127.  2. 
114.  4. 
49.     4. 


51.      I. 
60.     2. 


15.  5- 
95-  3- 
118.     6. 


71.  4. 

J  7-  3- 

Pro.  6. 

22.  5. 

123.  4. 


27.     2. 
iiS.     7- 


34-     2- 
114.     I. 


BARK 

within  a  helmless  h. 
like  the  unhappy  b. 
spare  thee,  sacred  iJ. 

BARRICADE 

pile  her  barricades 

BARRIER 

to  burst  All  barriers 

B.\SE 

The  bases  of  my  life 

BASENESS 

Is  there  no  b. 
b.  of  her  lot 

BASTION 

A  looming  b. 

B.\T 

bats  went  round 

B.\TH 

bailis  of  hissing  tears 

BB  (verb) 
He  is  not  here 
For  all  is  dark 
I  «?«  so  much  more 
perchance  art  more 
wheresoever  those  »iay 

be 

BEACH 

breaking  on  the  b. 

BEACON 

like  a  ^.   guards  thee 
home 

BE.\M 

A  b.  in  darkness 
BEAR  (verb) 
^<?r^  thee  where  I  could 
not  see 

BE.\RING 

the  b.  of  a  word 

BEAST 

I  en\'y  not  the  b. 
working  out  the  b. 

BE.\T  {verb) 
makes  me  b.  so  low 

BEAUTY 

Fantastic  b. 

rail  Against  her  b. 


BECKON  {verb) 
14.     2.     beckoning  unto  those 

BEco.ME  (verb) 
40.     4.     Becotnittg  as  is  meet 

BED 

67.     1.     When  on  my  b. 
67.     3.     From  off  my  b. 

BEECH 

loi.     I.     that     b.     will     gather 
brown 

BEGINNING 

84.  12.     beginnings  of  content 

BEHOLD  {verb) 

7.  2.     ^.    me,    for   I    cannot 

sleep 
124.     6.     what  I  am  beheld 

BEING 

85.  II.     His /J.  working 

Ep.    31.      strike      his     b.     into 
bounds 

BELIEVE 

Pro.     I.     Believing     where     we 
cannot  prove 

BELL 

8.  I.     rings  the  gateway  b. 
ID.     I.     I  hear  the  b. 

The  Christmas  bells 

heard  those  bells  again 

bells  of  Yule 

One  set  slow  b. 
104.     2.     single  peal  of  bells 
104.     2.     the  bells  I  know 
106.     I.     Ring  out,  wild  bells 
106.     2.     Ring,  happy  bells 
Ep.   16.    trembles  to  the  bells 

BELT 

86.  4.     From  b.  to  b. 

qS.     I.     summer  belts  of  wheat 

BIER 

85.     I.     with  b.  and  pall 

BIRD 

34.     4.     birds  the  charming  ser- 
pent draws 
I.     Wild  b.  whose  warble 
I.     sea-blue  b.  of  March 

1.  voices  of  ih'i  birds 

3.  love-language  of  the  b. 

4.  happy  birds 

2.  chirp  of  birds 

3.  the  wakeful  b. 


28. 
28. 
28. 
57- 


128 


Index. 


BIRTH 

BLOW 

64 

2 

his    birMs      invidious 
bar 

64 

2 

i/ipa/j  of  circumstance 

85 

14 

broke  the  b. 

BITTERNESS 

95- 

II 

blows  of  death 

84 

12.     The  old  b.  again 

BLUE 

BLAST 

52- 

3 

the  Syrian  b. 

72. 

I 

blasts    that     blow    the 
poplar 

'15- 

2 

yonder  living  b. 

BLUFF 

107. 

2 

The  b.    of   North  and 
East 

1  103- 

6. 

shadowing  b. 

BOARD 

32- 

4 

BLESSEDNESS 

is  there  b.  like  theirs? 

1     ^5- 

2. 

on  the  b.  the  fluttering 
urn 

BLESSING 

107. 

4- 

Arrange  the  b. 

17- 

3- 

My  b.,   like   a  line  of 

BOAST 

„   ''g'.!' 

40. 

7. 

make  her  b. 

36- 

I. 

We  yield  all  b. 

40. 

2. 

crown 'd  with  b. 

BOAT 

121. 

2. 

The  b.  is  drawn 

BLINDNESS 

121. 

4- 

The  market  b. 

93- 

4- 

this  b.  of  the  frame 

BODY 

BLISS 

12. 

S- 

wheie  the  b.  sits 

!4- 

2. 

dififusing  b. 

35- 

I. 

the  b.  bows 

85- 

23- 

in  conclusive  b. 

43- 

2. 

Bare  of  the  b. 

89. 

6. 

Oh  i^.,  when  all  in  cir- 
cle 
unconjectured  b. 

BOLDNESS 

91- 

3- 

in- 

4- 

licensed  b.  gather  force 

MT- 

I. 

gain  of  after  b. 

BOND 

Ep. 

2. 

so  much  of  b. 

105. 

3- 

the  b.  of  dying  use 

BLOOD 

116. 

4- 

Than  some  strong  b. 

2. 

4- 

fail  from  out  my  b. 

BONDSMAN 

50. 

I. 

the  b.  creeps 

4- 

I. 

My  will  is  b. 

59- 

2. 

wilt  thou  rule  my  b. 

84. 

85. 

109. 

3- 
5- 

3- 

Thy  b.  my  friend 

My  b.   an   even   tenor 

kept 
years  of  April  b. 

2. 
18. 
39- 

I. 
2. 
I. 

wrapt  about  the  bofies 
the  quiet  bones 
these  buried  bones 

III. 

1. 

Bv  /..  a  king 

BOOK 

122. 

3- 

Till  all  my  b. 

77- 

2. 

May  bind  a  b. 

Ep. 

3- 

Re-made  the  b. 

79- 

4- 

One  lesson  from  one  b. 

BLOOM 

89. 
107. 

9- 
6. 

Discussed  the  books 
With  books  and  music 

72. 

2. 

every  living  b. 

109. 

3- 

in  snowy  b. 

BOOTH 

98. 

7- 

in  b.  and  tent 

BLOOM  (verb) 

8. 
82. 

6. 
3- 

it  there  mav  b. 
Will  b.  to  profit 

17- 

4- 

BOSO.M 

the  b.  of  the  stars 

BOSOM-FRIEND 

lOI. 

BLOSSOM 

tender  b.  flutter  down 

59- 

I. 

b.  and  half  of  life 

BOUGH 

115.     5.     blossoms  like  the  rest 


69. 


while  the  holly  boughs 
with  thorny  bouglis 


Index. 


129 


76. 
102 

Ep, 
105. 
77- 


BOUGH  {continued) 
72.     6.     with  flying  boughs 
loi.     I.     the  garden  i5. 

BOUND 

87.     9.     in  the  bounds  of  law 

BOW 

122.     5.     paints  a  b. 

BOWER 

2.  from  b.  and  hall 

3.  autumn  boivers 

4.  their  branchy  bowers 

4.  among  the  bowers 
7.     on  its  bridal  b. 

BOWL 

5.  b.  of  wassail 

BOX 

2.  may  line  a  5. 

BOY 

controU'd  me  when  a  i5. 
among  his  boys 
little  more  than  b. 

3.  i5i3'>'j  of  thine 
5.     boys  That   crash'd  the 

glass 

4.  inconsiderate  b. 

BOYHOOD 

3.     here  thy  b.  sung 

BRAKE 

I.     over  b.  and  bloom 
3.     brakes  and  thorns 

BRAIN 

unquiet  heart  and  b. 
what  possess'd  my  b. 
picture  in  the  b. 
canker  of  the  b. 
not  wholly  b. 
darken'd  in  the  b. 

BRANCH 

barren  branches  loud 
branches  of  thy  blood 

BREADTH 

8g.     I.     thy  b.  and  height 

BREAKER 

71.     4.     The  ^.  breaking 

BREAST 
II.     5.     that  noble  b. 
15.     5.     drags  a  laboring  b. 
85.     4.     answer  from  the  b. 
85.  29.     another  living  b. 


s- 

2. 

14. 

So. 

4. 

3- 

92. 

I. 

120. 

I. 

121. 

2. 

'5- 
84. 

4- 

2. 

BREAST  (continued) 

95- 
115. 
122. 

3- 
S- 
3- 

woolly  breasts 

in  my  b.  Spring  wakens 

enter  in  at  b. 

BREATH 

3- 
20. 

I. 
4- 

sweet     and    bitter    in 

2.b. 

to  draw  the  b. 

68. 

86. 

95- 

98. 

99. 
120. 
122. 

I. 

3- 
16. 
2. 
4- 
I. 
4- 

times  my  b. 
feeds  thy  b. 
without  a  b. 
breathed  his  latest  b. 
thy  balmy  b. 
have  not  wasted  b. 
with  a  livelier  b. 

BREATHER 

118. 

2. 

breathers  of  an  ampler 
day 

87. 

3- 

10. 
107. 

5- 
4- 

10. 

32- 

3- 
I. 

56. 

3- 

121. 

4- 

21. 

89. 

7- 

BREEZE 

b.   Compell'd  thy  can- 
vas 
the  bugle  breezes  blew 
the  b.  of  song 
b.  began  to  tremble 
the  b.  of  Fancy 
Every  wandering  b. 

BRIDAL 

The  birth,  the  b. 
Memories  of  b. 


lovely  like  a  b. 

their  brides    in    other 

hands 
give  away  the  b. 
behold  the  b. 

BRIDGE. 

paced  the   shores  And 
many  a  b. 

BRINE 

fathom-deep  in  b. 
on  the  rolling  b. 

BRING  (verb) 

So  b.  him 

he    that    brought  him 

back 
often  brings  but  one 

BRINK 

hail  it  from  the  b. 

BROOD 

her  b.  is  stol'n  away 
the  b.  of  cares 


130 


Index. 


BROOK 

CAGE 

8s 

18. 

swells       the       narrow 
brooks 

27- 

I 

born  wthin  the  c. 

95 

2. 

b.  alone  far  ofE 

CALM 

99 

2. 

yon  swoirn  b. 

II. 

2 

C  and  deep  peace 

lOI 

3. 

The  b.  shall  babble 

II. 

3 

C.  and  still  light 

II. 

4 

C.  and  deep  peace 

BROTHER 

II. 

5 

C.  on  the  seas 

9 

4- 

the  b.  of  my  love 

95- 

2 

c.   that  let   the    tapers 

9 

5- 

More     than     my     bro- 

burn 

tliers 

Ep. 

4- 

colossal  c. 

31 

2. 

Where  wert  thou  b. 

32 

2. 

living  brothers  face 

CANKER 

58 

3- 

grieve  Thy  brethren 

92. 

I 

c.     of  the  brain 

79 
86 

I. 
3- 

More  than  my  brothers 
111  brethren 

CANVAS 

17- 

I 

Compeird  thy  c. 

BROTHER-HANDS 

8S 

26. 

I  clasping  b. 

BROW 

85. 

3 

CAPABILITY 

My  capabilities  of  love 

CAPE 

37 
69 

I. 
2. 

with  darken'd  b. 
to  bind  my  brows 

95- 

3 

ermine  capes 

72 

6. 

thy  burthen'd  bro^vs 

CAPTIVE 

74 

2. 

thy  brows  are  cold 

27- 

I 

c.  void  of  noble  rage 

79 

4- 

on  kindred  brows 

CARE 

foster'd  up  with  c. 
end  of  all  my  c. 

86 

2. 

fan  my  broivs 

91 

2. 

lucid  round  thy  b. 

8. 
12. 

4 
4 

BRUTE 

38. 

3 

c.  for  what  is  here 

Ep 

34- 

half-akin  to  b. 

48. 

2 

Her  c.  is  not  to  part 

99- 

3 

the  coming  c. 

BUD 

105. 

4 

cares  that  petty  shad- 

83 

4- 

burst  a  frozen  b. 
BUD  (verb) 

ows  cast 

CARRIER-BIRD 

"5 

5- 

buds  and  blossoms 

BULK 

25- 

2. 

light  as  carrier-birds 

CASE 

70 

3- 

^?<//tj  that  tumble 

BURDEN 

35- 

5- 

to  put  An  idle  c. 

CAST 

25 

I. 

daily  b.  for  the  back 

BURTHEN 

120. 

2 

cunning  casts  in  clay 

CATARACT 

13 

5- 

the  b.  that  they  bring 

71- 

4- 

c.    flashing    from     the 

80 

3- 

the  b,  of  the  weeks 

bridge 

80 

3- 

turns  his  b.  into  gain 

CATTLE 

BUSH 

15- 

2. 

c.  huddled  on  the  lea 

91- 

I. 

underneath  the  barren  b. 

CAUSE 

BUZZING 

29. 

I. 

compelling  c.  to  grieve 

89 

13- 

buzzhigs  of  the  honied 
hours 

106. 

4- 

slowly  dying  c. 
CELL 

50. 

3- 

weave  their  petty  cells 

C. 

95- 

8. 

her  inmost  c. 

CABIN-WINDOW 

CELT 

10. 

I. 

the  c.  bright 

109. 

4- 

blind  hysterics  of  the  C. 

Index. 


131 


64. 
103. 


CENTRE 

c.  of  a  world's  desire 
In  the  c.  stood 


CHAFF 

I.     c.  well  meant  for  grain 

CHAIR 

5.     To  see  the  vacant  c. 
4.     The  chairs  and  throne 
4.     beats  his  c. 


CHALICE 

c.  of  the  grapes 

CHAMBER 

chambers    emptied     of 

delight 
the  c.  and  the  street 
chambers  of  the  blood 


CHANCE 

92.     2.    made  appeal  To  <:Aa?i£:^j 
114.     2.     the  future  c. 

CHANGE 

changes  on  the  wind 
bound  Thy  changes 
mellower  c. 
For  changes  wrought 
c.  of  light  or  gloom 
cJuinges  of  the  state 
Whatever  c.  the  years 
hourly-mellowing  c. 
tenfold-complicated  c. 
defying  c.  To   test   his 
worth 

105.     3.     for  c.  of  place 

123.     I.     what  c/i<z?//'ei  thou  hast 
seen 

CHANGE  {verb) 
23.     3.     changed  from  where  it 

ran 
30.     6.     Nor  cJiange  to  us 

CHARACTER  (z/^*-^) 


28. 

3- 

41- 

2. 

81. 

I. 

82. 

I. 

85. 

19. 

89. 

9- 

90. 

6. 

91. 

3- 

93- 

3- 

95- 

7- 

6. 
66. 

69. 

go- 
109. 
114. 
114. 
124. 
124. 


28. 

3'- 

104. 
106. 


CHEQUER- WORK 

4.     c.  of  beam  and  shade 

CHESTNUT 

I.     c.     pattering     to      the 
ground 


CHILD 

Poor  c.  that  waitest 
takes  the   children  on 

his  knee 
They  call'd  me  c. 
find  in  c.  and  wife 
the  stranger's  c. 
the  c.  would  twine 
Half -grown,  a  c. 
like  the  younger  c. 
like  a  c.  in  doubt 
as  a  c.  that  cries 

CHILDHOOD 

childhood's  flaxen  ring- 
let 

CHIMNEY 

her  father's  c.  glows 

CHIRP 

hear  a  c.  of  birds 

CHOOSE  {verb) 
worth  my  while  to  c. 

CHORD 

flash  along  the  chords 

CHRIST 

the  birth  of  Christ 
raised  up  by  Christ 
the  birth  of  Christ 
Christ  that  is  to  be 

CHRISTMAS 

at  C.  did  we  weave 


CHRISTMAS-EVE 

29.  I.  keep  our  C. 

30.  I.  sadly  fell  our  C. 
78.  I.  calmly  fell  our  C. 

61.     2.     Ylow  6.\m\y  character' d  '  105.  i.  strangely  falls  our  C 

CHARLATAN 

III.     6.     Defamed  by  every  <:. 


CHEEK 

1.  The  cheeks  drop  in 

2.  your  cheeks  are  pale 

5.  clap  their  cheeks 

CHEER 

6.  With  festal  c. 


CHRYSALIS 

82.     2.  ruin'd  c. 

CHURCH 

67.     4.     the  dark  c. 
104.     I.     single  c.  below  the  hill 

CHURL 

III.     I.     c.  in  spirit 
III.     2.     c.  in  spirit 


132 


Index. 


17.  2. 

30.  3- 

45-  '• 

61.  I. 

85.  6. 

89.  6. 

loi.  6. 


Ep.  21. 

63-  3- 

64.  2. 

98.  2. 

119.  I. 

102.  5, 

124.  5. 

Ep.  16. 

84.  2. 

58-  2. 

93-  •• 

85.  22. 
109.  I. 


12.     2. 

S6.     I. 


85.     7. 
118.     4. 


CIRCXE 

CLOUD 

circles  of  the  boundine 

4- 

4. 

clouds      of      nameless 

.     sky 

trouble 

in  a  <:.  hand  in  hand 

15- 

4- 

pore  on  yonder  c. 

c.  of  the  breast 

30. 

I. 

A  rainy  c. 

c.  of  the  wise 

72- 

6. 

clouds  that  drench 

In  c.  round  the  blessed 

8s. 

22. 

clouds  of  nature 

gate 

103. 

14- 

a  crimson  c. 

all  in  iT.  drawn 

106. 

I. 

The  flying  r. 

c.  of  the  hills 

123- 

2. 

Like  clouds  they  shape 

ORCLE  [^verb") 
it  circles  round 

Ep. 

27- 

themselves 
the  streaming  c. 

CLOUDLET 

CIRCUIT 

circuits  of  thine  orbit 

Ep. 

24. 

little  cloudlets  on    the 
grass 

CIRCUMSTANCE 
blows  of  C. 
CITY 

That  C. 
the  c.  sleeps 

CLAIM 

prefers  his  separate  c. 

CLAMOR 

that  blind  c. 

CLASH 

c.  and  clang 

CLASP 

c.  and  kiss 

CLAY 

their  dying  c. 
claspt  in  c. 

CLEARNESS 

starry  c.  of  the  free 
critic  c.  of  an  eye 

CLIFF 

leave  the  cliffs 
From  scarped  c. 
CLIMB  (verb) 
when  we  c.  or  fall 

CLIME 

the  blissful  cliques 
branch'd  from  c.  to  c. 

CLOCK 

the  c.  Beats  out 

CLOTHES 

coarsest  c.  against  the 
cold 


CLOUD-TOWERS 

70.     2.     C    by  ghostly  masons 
wrought 

CLOWN 

III.     I.     at  heart  a  c. 

COBWEB 

124.     2.     The  petty  cobwebs 

COIN 

36.     I.     made  them  current  c. 

COLD 

5.  3.     clothes  against  the  c. 
61.     2.     growth  of  c.  and  night 

COLDNESS 

106.     s.     faithless  c.  of  the  times 

COLOR 

6.  g.     her  c.  burns 
43.     2.     (-.  of  the  flower 

116.     I.     colors   of   the   crescent 
prime 

COME  (verb) 

2.  C.  quick 

3.  c.    whatever    loves     to 
weep 

I.     Peace,  c.  away 

4.  if  they  came  who  past 
away 

6.     but  c.  thou  back  to  me 
10.     came  on  that  which  is 

COMFORT 

6.     c.  clasp'd  in  truth 

5.  his  c.  in  thy  face 

COMMAND 

Ep.  33.     under  whose  c.  is  earth 


Index. 


133 


85.  24. 

6. 
94- 


COMMERCE 

c.  with  the  dead 

COMMON-PLACE 

,  common  is  the  c. 

COMMUNION 

.     c.  with  the  dead 

COMPANIONSHIP 

broke  our  fair  c. 

COMPLAINT 

.     end  is  here  to  my  c. 

COMRADE 


>3- 

128. 

3- 
I. 

c.  ot  my  choice 

c.  of  the  lesser  faith 

S7. 

9- 

CONCLUSION 

To  those  conclusions 

59- 

I. 

CONFESS  (verb) 
As  I  c.  it  needs  must  be 

Pro. 

II. 

5- 

CONFUSION 

Con/icsiotis  of  a  wasted 

youth 
C.  worse  than  death 

27- 

34- 
94. 

2. 
2. 
3. 

CONSCIENCE 

a  c.  never  wakes 
Without  a  c.  or  an  aim 
The  c.  as  a  sea  at  rest 

84- 

,_ 

CONTEMPLATE 

When  I  c.  all  alone 

84. 

12. 

CONTENT 

low  beginnings  of  c. 

35- 

3- 

CONTINENT 

dust  of  coitihtenis  to  be 

125. 

I. 

CONTRADICTION 

c.  on  the  tongue 

85. 

9- 

CONTROL 

equal-poised  c. 

20. 
110. 

5- 
I. 

CONVERSE 

open  c.  is  there  none 
Thy  c.  drew  us 

27- 

Ep. 


COKE 

solid  c.  of  heat 

COUNSELLOR 

play'd  at  coutisellors 
COUNT  (verb) 
c.  itself  as  blest 
Nor  c.  me  all  to  blame 


log.  2. 

1I3.  4- 

"7-  3- 

1.8.  5. 

12S.  1. 


Sg.     3. 
126.     2. 


126.     I. 

Ep.  25. 
79-  3- 
95-     8. 

127-     3- 

56.     4. 
Ep.  36. 

Pro.   10. 
59-     3- 


71.     2. 
80.     4. 


36-  3- 

56.  4. 

96-  3- 

128.  4. 


lOI.  4. 

84.  I. 

107.  3. 

93-  2- 


27.       2. 

72-      5- 

83.  16. 


COUNTENANCE 

her  forward  c. 

COURSE 

in  its  fiery  c. 

roll  it  in  another  c. 

courses  of  the  suns 

move  his  c. 

the  c.  of  human  things 

COURT 

from  brawling  courts 
within  his  c.  on  earth 

COURIER 

liis  couriers  bring 

COURTSHIP 

how  their  c.  grew 

COVE 

all  Ills  eddying  cores 

COWARD 

doubts  that  drive  the  c. 
back 

CRAG 

the  sustaining  crags 

CREATION 

Creation's  final  law 
the  whole  c.  moves 

CREATURE 

Thy  c.  whom   I   found 
the  c.  of  my  love 

CREDIT 

such  c.  with  the  soul 
Hisc.  thus  shall  set  me 
free 

CREED 

the  c.  of  creeds 
shriek'd  against  his  c. 
in  half  the  creeds 
To  cleave  a  c. 

CREEK 

in  c.  and  cove 

CRESCENT 

thy  c.  would  have  grown 
yon  hard  c. 

CRICKET 

not  a  c.  chirr'd 

CRIME 

sense  of  c. 
some  hideous  c. 
I  count  it  c. 


134 


Index. 


CROWD 

DARK 

70. 

3- 

crowds  that  stream 

67 

2. 

bright  in  d. 

98. 

7. 

lives  in  any  c. 

89 

4- 

ambrosial  d. 

128. 

4- 

To  fool  the  c. 

CROWN 

Ep. 

24. 

the  rf.  B'rom  little  cloud- 
lets 

69. 

2. 

like  a  civic  c. 

DARKNESS 

69. 

3- 

a  c.  of  thorns 

I 

3- 

Let  d.  keep  her  raven 

69. 

4- 

He  look'd  upon  my  c. 

gloss 

127. 

3- 

him  that  wears  a  c. 

55 

4- 

That  slope  thro'  d. 

CRY 

wandering  cries 

To  raise  a  c. 

our  earliest  c. 

cries  And  undulations 

A    c.    above    the    con- 

61 

2. 

blanch'd  with  d. 

Pro. 

II. 

74 
76 

3- 
3- 

d.  beautiful  with  thee 
The  d.  of  our  planet 

75- 

3- 

96 

5. 

Which  makes  the  d. 

102. 
113- 
131- 

I. 
5- 
2. 

9^ 

98 

106 

6. 
4- 

8. 

in  the  d.  and  the  cloud 
A  treble  d. 
Ring  out  the  d. 

quered  years 

124 

6. 

out  of  d.  came 

CRYPT 

DART  {verb) 

58. 

2. 

those  cold  crypts 

CUP 

12 

5- 

forward  d.  again 

DAUGHTER 

Ep. 

26. 

The  crowning  c. 

CURL 

Ep 

2. 

A  d.  of  our  house 

DAWN 

66. 

3- 

winds  their  curls 

46 

2. 

In  that  deep  d. 

CURSE 

72 

dim  d. 

6. 

10. 

the  c.  Had  fallen 

CURVE 

95 
99 

16. 

said  "  The  d.  the  r/.» 
dim  d. 

100. 

4- 

thro'  meadowy   curves 

Pro 

DAY 

They  have  their  d. 

CYCLE 

7 

breaks  the  blank  d. 

105. 

7- 

The  closing  c. 

15 

yonder  dropping  d. 

CYPRESS 

17 

the  days  go  by 

84. 

4- 

Made  c.  of  her  orange- 
flower 

19 
24 
24 

twice  a  d. 

the  d.  of  my  delight 

source  and  fount  of  D. 

D. 

25 

the  d.  prepared 

29 

a  d.  gone  by 

DAISY 

30 

the  cheerful  d. 

72- 

3- 

the  d.  close   Her  crim- 

31 

those  four  days 

son  fringes 

33 
44 

melodious  days 
forgets  the  days 

DANCE 

44 

The  days  have  vanish'd 

29. 

2. 

In  d.  and  song 

46 

Days  order'd 

78. 

3- 

And  d.  and  song 

58 

beat  from  d.  to  d. 

98. 

8. 

the  circled  d. 

60 

her  narrow  days 

105. 

6. 

No  d.,  no  motion 

60 

till  the  d.  draws  by 
inner  d.  can  never  die 

Ep. 

27. 

And  last  the  d. 

66 

DANUBE 

71 

The  days  that  grow 

19. 

I. 

The  D.   to  the   Severn 

72 

Z*.  rnark'd  as  with  some 

hideous  crime 
disastrous  d. 

98. 

3- 

Let  her  great  D. 

72 

DARE  (verb) 

75 

these  fading  days 

4- 

2. 

darest  to  enquire 

83 

live  with  April  days 

8s. 

ro. 

we  d.  to  live  or  die 

84 

the  d.  was  dravring  on 

124. 

I. 

which  we  d.  invoke 

84 

7- 

the  happy  days 

Index. 


135 


107. 
107. 
107. 
116. 
117. 
119. 

Ep. 
Ep. 


S5. 


Pro. 


S2. 

82. 

82. 

95 
103. 
108. 
laS. 


DAY  {coiitiitiied) 

1.  my  days  decline 

8.  livelong  summer  d. 

4.  yield  them  for  a  d. 

2.  in  the  days  behind 

2.  their  golden  d. 

6.  into  boundless  d. 

4.  The  days  she  never  can 

forget 

I.  D.  when  I  lost 

5.  reflects  a  kindlier  d. 

5.  striven  half  the  d. 

3.  breathes  of  other  days 
I.  d.  when  he  vifas  born 
I.  d.  that  early  sank 

6.  We  keep  the  d. 

4.  (izj'^f  of  happy  commime 

1.  O  days  and  hours 

2.  think  of  early  days 

1.  thy  marriage  d. 

2.  Since  that  dark  d. 

DEAD  [adj.) 

I.  the  underlying  d. 

I.  the  happy  d. 

1.  desire  the  d. 

3.  The  d.  shall  look 
24.     the  d.  would  say 

2.  d.  whose  dying  eyes 
2.  holy  to  the  d. 

2.     those  we  call  the  d. 

DEAREST 

4.  I,  thy  d.,  sat  apart 

DEARNESS 

5.  distant  d.  in  the  hill 

DEATH 

2.  Thou  madest  D. 

3.  To  dance  with  d. 

4.  that  atmosphere  of  D. 

5.  \i  D.  were  seen 

3.  If  D.  so  taste 

4.  second  birth  of  D. 

3.     wisdom  with  great  D. 

2.  I  bring  to  d. 

I.     Death's  twin  brother 

3.  D.  has  made  His  dark- 

ness 
I.    holy  D.  ere  Arthur  died 
3.     D.   returns   an   answer 

1.  feud  with  D. 

3.  Nor  blame  I  D. 

4.  on  D.  I  wreak 

1 1 .  The  blows  of  D. 

9.  the  d.  of  war 

2.  the  wells  of  D. 

3.  the  depths  of  d. 


DEATH  {continued') 
114.     3.     the  fear  of  d. 
120.     I.     I  fought  with  D. 
128-     I.     when  he  met  with  D. 

DEBATE 

87.     6.     Where  once  we  held  d. 

DECEMBER 

q/.     3.     meetings  made  D.  June 

DECK 

9.     3.     the  dewy  decks 
103.   II.     there  on  d. 

DECLINE  {zierb) 

62.  2.     that  once  declined 

DEED 

36.  3.  perfect  deeds 

55.  3.  meaning  in  her  deeds 

73.  3.  human  deeds 

85.  2.  tried  in  d. 

96.  3.  pure  in  deeds 

131.  I.  Flow  thro'  our  deeds 

DEEP 

II.     5.     the  heaving (/. 

63.  4.     a  deeper  d. 

103.  10.  to  draw  From  d.  to  d. 

103.  14.  slept  along  the  d. 

123.  I.  There  rolls  the  d. 

124.  3.  the  Godless  d. 

125.  4.  the  mystic  deeps 

DEFECT 

54.     I.     Defects  of  doubt 

DELIGHT 

shower'd  largess  of  d. 
what  delights  can  equal 
ZP.  a  hundredfold 

DEMAND  (verb) 
Was  this  demanded 
DEMON 

the  brain  Of  Demons 

DEPLORE  {verb) 
.     that  cannot  but  d. 


29. 

42. 
117. 

Si- 
ll 4. 
85. 
93- 
66. 


DESCEND  {verb) 
4.     />.  and  touch 

DESERT 

2.     makes  a  d.  in  the  mind 

DESIRE 

2.     fail  from  thy  d. 

4.  a  world's  d. 

I .     any  vajue  d. 

5.  their  least  d. 


136 


Index. 


110. 
114. 
117. 
129. 


68'. 

2. 

83. 

3- 

89. 

S- 

Ep. 

2S- 

40.  6. 

89.  2. 

94.  4. 

106.  7. 


DESIRE  {continued) 
5.     the  vague  d. 
2.     all  things  to  d. 
2.     D.  fif  nearness 
I.     my  lost  d. 

DESPAIR 

4.     a  calm  d. 
I.     Can  calm  ;/. 
4.     Z?.  of  Hope 

DEW 

dews  that  drench 
fresh  with  d. 
dash'd  with  fiery  d. 
in  morning  d. 
at  fall  of  d. 

DEW-DROP 

every  d.  paints  a  bow 

DIE  {z'erb) 
Or  dyhig,  there  at  least 

may  d. 
to  rt'.  with  him 

DIFFERENCE 

the  d.  I  discern 

DIN 

d.  and  steam  of  town 
the  heart  is  full  of  d. 

DISEASE 

shapes  of  foul  d. 


loi.     2.     her «?.  of  seed 


84.  6. 

38.  I. 

93-  3- 

115.  2. 

117.  2. 

78.  4. 

53-  3- 


72. 
118. 


DISPUTE 

Of  deep  d. 

DISTANXE 

purple  from  the  d.  dies 
d.  of  the  abyss 
d.  takes  a  lovelier  hue 
out  of  d. 

DISTRESS 

token  of  d. 

DOCTRINE 

held  the  d.  sound 

DOOM 

that  reverse  of  d. 
shocks  of  d. 
against  my  d. 

DOOR 

Doors  where  my  heart 
as  if  a  d.  Were  shut 


5- 


DOOR  (continued) 

2.  lowly  doors 
I.     trifles  at  the  d. 

3.  yawning  doors 
5.     name  was  on  the  d. 
I.     From  out  the  doors 

1.  Doors  where  my  heart 

2.  listenest  to  theciosingrf. 
30.     bridal  doors 

DOORWAY 

I.     doorways  of  his  head 

DOUBT 

spectral  doubt 
resolve  the  d. 
doubts  and  answers 
slender  shade  of  d. 
defects  of  d. 
my  dream  resolve  the^f. 
till  Z*.  and  Death 
d.  beside  the  portal 
doubts  that  drive 
stricken  through  with  d. 
d.  is  Devil-born 
more  faith  in  honest  d. 
He  fought  his  doubts 
doubts  of  man 
our  ghastliest  d. 
DOUBT  {verb) 
can  I  d. 
I  d.  not 

DOVE 

6.     7.     meek  unconscious  d. 
12.     I.     Lo,  as  a  d. 
103.     4.     then  flew  in  a  d. 

DOWN  {0/ feathers) 
68.     I.     in  the  d.  I  sink  my  head 

DOWN  {of  cozmtry) 
Ep.  27.     on  the  downs 
Ep.  28.     from  yonder  d. 

DRAGON 

56.     6.     Dragons  of  the  prime 

DRAUGHT 

6.     3.     ere  half  thy  d. 

DRAW  {verb) 
Q.     2.     So  d.  him  home 


48, 
5+ 
68, 
86, 
94 
95 
95 
96. 
96, 
96, 
109 
124 

113. 
lis- 


DREAM 

10 

3 

we  have  idle  dreams 

13 

4 

suffer  in  a  d. 

4" 

3 

What  vaster  d. 

54 

5 

So  runs  mv  d. 

55 

2 

such  evil  dreams 

Index. 


137 


56. 
64. 


123- 
129. 


6S. 
98. 


107. 
107. 


67- 
95- 
95- 

Pro. 
17- 
21. 
34- 
35- 
35- 
55- 
56. 

7'- 
75- 


DREAM  (contmtied) 

6.  a  </. ,  A  discord 

5.  as  in  a  pensive  d. 

3.  my  d.  resolve  the  doubt 

9.  some  Socratic  d. 

3.  dream  my  d. 

X.  a  d.  of  eood 


DREAM  (verb) 
I.     d.  of  thee  as  dead 

3.  rather  d.  that  there 

DRIFT 

4.  in  the  drifts  that  pass 

DRINK  [verb) 
6.     we  Will  d.  to  him 

DROP 

4.     balmy  drops 

1.  d.  by  d.  the  water  falls 

DROPPING-WELLS 

3.  Laburnums,  d.  of  fire 

DUE 

4.  their  yearly  d. 

4.     human  love  his  dues 

4.  fruitless  of  their  d. 

DUSK 

2.  in  the  d.  of  thee 

3.  d.  is  dipt  in  gray 
3.     That  haunt  the  d. 

13.     the  doubtful  d. 

DUST 

3.  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  </. 

5.  The  d.  of  him 

6.  the  sacred  d. 
I.  rf.  and  ashes 

1.  nor  is  there  hope  in  d. 

3.  d.  of  continents 

S.  gather  d.  and  chaff 

5.  the  desert  d. 

3.  the  d.  of  change 

3.  a  little  (/.  of  praise 

1.  dropt  the  d. 

2.  The  d.  and  din 

E. 

EAGLE 

2.     eagWs  wing 

EAR 

2.  turn  mine  ears 

3.  ungrateful  to  thine  e. 
3.     Yet  in  these  ears 

I.     mature  in  f. 
S-    Till  on  mine  e. 


87. 
Ep. 


34- 

78. 

82. 

84. 

85. 

99- 
"3- 
ii8. 

123- 

127. 
Ep. 


Ep. 
6;. 


EAR  {continued) 
8.     A  willing  e. 
14.     Breathed  in  her  e. 

EARNEST 

4.     tf.  that  he  loves  her 

E.\RTH 

1.  in  English  e.  is  laid 

2.  e.  had  been  the  Para- 

dise 
I.     Else  e.  is  darkness 
I.     snow  possess'd  the  ?. 

1.  «ar//«'j  embrace 
4.     and  ^.  of  thee 
8.     a  darken'd  ?. 

4.  on  the  genial  ?. 

4.  lever  to  uplift  the  e. 

2.  e.  whereon  we  tread 
I.  O  e.  what  changes 
4.  The  brute  e.  lightens 

33.     under  whose  command 
Is  E.  and  Eartlt's 


EAST 

30.  8.  touch  the  e. 

72.  4.  Up  the  deep  E. 

95.  16.  And  E.  and  West 

105.  6.  in  the  lucid  e. 


99. 


EAVES 

3.     foliaged  e. 


the  sharpened  e. 

ECHO 

3.     3.     hollow  e.  of  my  own 
58.     I.    ecJioes    in     sepulchral 
halls 
Ep.     6.     echoes  out   of    weaker 
times 

EDDY 

128.     2.     vast  ^rf<//i?j  in  the  flood 

EDDV  {verb) 
S3.     3.     that  ^.  round  and  round 

EDEN 

88.     1.     Rings     E.     thro'     the 
budded  quicks 
the  moon  Of  E. 


EFFECT 

thine  e.  so  lives  in  me 

EGG 

That  lay  their  eggs 

ELEMENT 

elements  in  order 


138 


Index. 


83.  2S. 

117.  I. 

6.  II. 

12.  4. 

65.  3- 

85.  25. 

lOO.  I. 

118.  2. 
:o9.  4. 

60.  2. 

85.  9- 

64.  I. 

72.  2. 


Q2.        4. 

Ep.  36. 


5-     2. 
III.     5. 


BLM 

the  full  foliaged  ehns 

EMBRACE 

parting  with  a  long  e. 
earih's  e. 

yet  remembers  his  e. 
little  while  from  his  e. 

END 

shall  be  the  e  ? 

Is  this  the  e. 

on  to  noble  ends 

some  settled  e. 

from  e.  to  «■, 

For  ever  nobler  etids 

ENGLAND 

her  regal  seat  Of  E. 

ENVY  {verb) 
envying  all  that  meet 

ESSENCE 

O  sacred  e. 

ESTATE 

life  in  low  e.  began 
my  crown'd  e. 

EVANGELIST 

lips  of  that  E. 

EVENT 

refraction  of  events 
one  far-off  divine  e. 

EVIL 

E.  haunts  The  birth 

EXAMPLE 

Unused  e. 

EXERCISE 

sad  mechanic  e. 

EXPRESSION 

the  e.  of  an  eye 

EXTREME 

fierce  extremes  employ 

EVE 

the  darken'd  eyes 
a  vanish'd  e. 
Mine  eyes  have  leisure 
look'd  to  human  eyes 
e.  which  watches  guilt 
that  e.  foresee 
every  e.  was  dim 
Her  eyes  are  homes 
those  wild  eyes 


EVE  (continued) 

40.     2.  her  tender  eyes 

51.     2.  See  with  clear  e. 

51.     4.  With  larger  other  eyes 

56.  3.  purpose  in  his  eyes 

57.  3.  look'd  with  human  <'_v<?i 

61.  2.  cast  thine  eyes  below 

62.  1.  f.  that 's  down\\ard  cast 
62.      3.  light  of  deeper  eyes 

67.  3.  eaves  of  wearied  eyes 

68.  3.  trouble  in  thine  e. 
77.     I.  turns  a  musing  <r. 
80.     I.  dust  on  tearless  eyes 
87.   10.  those  ethereal  eyes 

89.  3.  He  brought  an  e. 

90.  2.  whose  dying  eyes 

95.  3.  beaded  eyes 

96.  I.  whose  light-blue  eyes 

97.  3.  dwelt  with  e.  on  e. 
97.     o.  with  faithful  eyes 

100.     5.  pleased  a  kindred  ?. 

109.     I.  clearness  of  an  e. 

109.     6.  mine  eyes  Have  look'd 

HI.     5.  expression  of  an  ^. 

112.     I.  with  temperate  <yfj 

IT2.     2.  cast  a  careless  ?. 

119.     3.  friendship  of  thine  ^. 

125.     2.  look  thro' dimmer  ^_)'«'j 

Ep.     8.  bends  her  blissful  eyes 

Ep.   15.  liy  village  (yv^ 

Ep.  33.  that  e.  to  e.  shall  look 

F. 

FACE 

Pro.    I.  have  not  seen  thyy. 

70.     I.  strive  to  paint  The/; 

70.     3.  shoals  of  pucker'dyiziT^j 

70.     4.  Looks  thy  Id^xf. 

76.     I.  set  thy  y^ 

84.     5.  their  unborn yiiir^j 

87.     9.  light  hisy: 

108.     3.  reflex  of  a  human  f. 

n6.     3.  the  _/ will  shine 

Ep.   17.  Many  a  merry y! 

Ep.   21.  zmA  faces  bloom 

FACT 

92.     3.  bared  to  view  Kf. 
FADE  {verb) 

8.      5.  fades  not  yet 

50.     4.  when  \f.  away 

FAITH 

Pro.     I.  Byy;  andy:  alone 

Pro.     6.  We  have  buty! 

3i.      I.  ^^'hosey;  has  centre 

33.      3.  Her/,  thro'  form 


Indc. 


139 


37 

I. 

47 

2. 

50 

3- 

SI 

3- 

55 

5- 

82 

I. 

95 

8. 

96 

3- 

96 

3- 

96 

5- 

97 

8. 

97 

9- 

loS 

2. 

124 

I. 

124 

3- 

1^7 
>3i 

3- 

73- 

2. 

73- 

3- 

73- 

4- 

75- 

5- 

77- 

4. 

10. 

3- 

IS- 

5- 

16. 

3- 
5- 

23- 

4- 

49- 

2. 

53- 
65. 
6b. 

2. 

I. 

76. 
So. 

I. 
2. 

84. 

86. 

12. 

3- 

ri. 

5- 

22. 

S- 

58. 

123- 


F.AiTH  [co>iti>iued) 
Tliisy!  has  many  a 
f.    as   vague 
when  myy.  is  dry 
wa.'it  olf. 
lame  hands  of  y^ 
can  fright  my/! 
strangely  spoke  The/! 
Perplext  iny; 
more_/!  in  honest  doubt 
a  strongery.  his  own 
sings  Of  earlyy; 
Her_/;  is  fixt 
lies  in  barren  _/! 
Our  dearesty 
when_/ had  fall'n  asleep 
tho'  /  and  form 
/■    that   comes  of  self- 
control 

FALL 

that  redden  to  they. 

FALSE  (adj.) 

Ring  out  they. 
FALTER  {verb) 
y.  where  I  firmly  trod 

FAME 

They  is  quench'd 
Whaty  is  left 
wraith  of  dyingy. 
silence  guard  thyy 
is  more  thany 

FANCY 

Our  home-bredyz/iczVj 

My  /ancies  time  to  rise 

And  but  lor  fancies 
y  fuses  old  and  new 

F.  light  from  F.  caught 
fancy's  tenderest  eddy 

dare  we  to  thisy.  give 

ay  trouble-tost 

when  my  fancies  play 

Take  wings  of  f. 

Theny  sh:ipes  asy  can 

Ah,  backwardy 

let  they  fly 

villainy  fleeting  by 

the  breeze  of  F. 

FANE 

fanes  of  fruitless  prayer 
in  college  ya«^j 

FAREWELL 

I  tooky 
the  thingy 


!  64. 

6. 

6. 

3°- 

40. 

53- 

I     89. 

I     98- 

I  105. 

124. 


15- 
32. 
41. 

SI- 
85- 

no. 

118. 

127. 

Ep. 
Ep. 


118. 
Ep. 
Ep. 


FARM 

crowdedyirwx 

FAR  {adj.) 
f  oS  thou  art 

FASHION 

ior  fashion's  sake 

FATE 

limit  of  his  narrowy 

FATHER 

y  wheresoe'er  thou  be 
her  father's  chimney 
O,  F.^i  touch  the  east 
joys  the  f  move 
How  many  ay 
into  her  father's  grave 
fathers  bend 
Onr  father's  dust 
knows  hisy  near 

FATHOM  {verb) 
'T  is  hard  for  thee  toy 

FAUN 

fly  The  reeling  F. 

FEAR 

but  fory  it  is  not  so 

all  curiousy^a^-j- 

that  vaguey 

v/ilh.  fears  untrue 

separate  Uom  fears 

haunt  oi  fears 

hot  with  harning  fears 

in  the  night  of  f 

FEAR  {verb) 

She  fears  not 

will  noty 

FEAST 

sit  at  endlessy 
the  sensuaiy 
the  morningy 
Again  they. 

FEATURE 

see  the  features  right 
FEEL  {'/erb) 
y  it  to  be  strange 
y  it  when  I  sorrow 
fe/t  it  when  I  sorrow 'd 

Ife/t  andy 
fee/s  him  great  and  wise 

FEELING 

speak  theiry 
a  gentlery  crept 


140 


Index. 


FELLOW 

21. 

2. 

Thisy;  would  make 

35- 

6. 

FELLOWSHIP 

f.  of  sluggish  moods 

FEUD 

82. 
106. 

I. 
3- 

anyy.  with  Death 
Ring  out  they; 

FEVER 

86. 

3- 

The/,  from  my  cheek 

FIBRE 

2. 

I. 

Tyxy  fibres  net 

3°- 

7- 

FICKLE  {adj.) 
Rapt  from  the/ 

FIELD 

8. 
27. 
37- 
40. 
46. 
95- 
95- 
102. 

3- 
2. 
6. 
8. 
4. 
4- 
13- 
6. 

The/,  the  chamber 
the/,  of  time 
the  master's/ 
\\\e.  fields  I  know 
A  bounded/ 
dark  arms  about  the  / 
dark  arms  about  the/ 
the  pleasant/f/i^ 
FIND  {verb) 

Pro. 

6. 
14. 
45- 

10. 
7- 
5- 
2. 

1/  him  worthier 
to/  thyself  so  fair 
found\\m\  all  in  all 
finds  I  am  not  what  I 
see 

FINGER 

30. 
85. 
99- 

I. 

S- 

3- 

With  trembling/«^^rj 
God's/  touch'd  him 
A  fiery/  on  the  leaves 

FIRE 

5.  fringed  with/ 

3.  in  a  fruitless/ 

5.  the  never-lighted/ 

5.  compass 'd  by  the  fires 
27.     a  rising/ 

FIRESIDE 

6.  her  old/ 

FIRSTLING 

2.    /  to  the  flock 


98.     8. 


3°- 
67. 
72. 

lOI. 


FLAKB 

molten  into  fiakes 

FLAME 

keen  seraphic/ 
steals  a  silver/ 
heaved  a  windless/ 
Ray  round  with  fiames 


44.     2. 
122.     4. 


87.     4- 


115. 


103. 
127. 
128. 


87.     5. 
89.     I. 


23.     6. 
105.     6. 


50-     3 
96.     I. 


FLASH 

A   little/ 
former/  of  joy 

FLAT 

The    same    gray  fiats 

FLECK 

flecks  of  sin 

FLESH 

sacred  be  the/ 

FLOCK 

'Vhe.  flocks  are  whiter 

FLOOD 

prosperous  floods 
the  &te2xn\n%  floods 
the  horned/ 
roird  the.  floods 
roar  in/ 
eddies  in  the/ 

FLOOR 

and  beat  the/ 
countercharge  the/ 

FLOWER 

a/  beat  with  rain 
poor/  of  poesy 
From/  to/ 
/  is  feeling  after/ 
all  the  color  of  the/ 
/  of  human  time 
ankle  deep  in  flowers 
the/  of  men 
admits  not  flowers 
the  bridal/ 
lightly  like  a/ 
/  and  fruit 

FLUCTUATION 

word-wide/ 

FLUTB 

a/  of  Arcady 
nor/  be  blown 

FLY 

flies  of  latter  spring 
drowningy?;V.f 

FLY  (verb) 
flies  the  lighter  thro'  the 
gross 

FOLD 

formless  in  the/ 
or  lonely/ 

FOLIAGE 

height  Of/. 


Index. 


141 


Pro 


FOLLY 

41.     3.     Deep/. 

FONT 

29.     3.     cold  baptisraaiy. 

FOOL 

Pro.  8.  We  3.re/ools  and  slight 

4.  4.     the/  of  loss 

10.  3.  Th.e  fools  of  habit 

69.  3.  /  that  wears  a  crown 

69.  4.  Tliey  called  me/. 

1 10.  3.  the  brazen/. 

FOOI.-FURY 

127.     2.     red/  of  the  Seine 

FOOT 

thy/  Is  on  the  skull 

with   equal /^^^ 

set  thy  feet 

walks  with  aimless/ffZ' 

Whose  feet  are  guided 

Thy  feet  have  stray 'd 

my  feet  are  set 

Her  feet,  my  darling 

FOOTSTEP 

The: /ooisteps  of  his  life 
at  his/,  leaps  no  more 
no  /.  beat  the  floor 
guide  \\.e.x footsteps 

FORCE 

by/  his  merit  known 
the  large  results  of  / 
of  what/  thou  art 
with/  and  skill 
boldness  gather/ 
this  electric/ 

FORD 

10.     passing  thro"  the/ 

FOREHEAD 

2.     on  her/  sits  a  fire 


rro. 
25- 

,; 

37- 

2. 

54- 

2. 

66. 

3- 

I02. 

4- 

102. 

6. 

Ep. 

13- 

85. 

II. 

85. 

2S. 

10;. 

5- 

114. 

5- 

64. 

3. 

73- 

4- 

79. 

I 

112. 

2 

112. 

4 

125. 

4 

114. 
15- 


FOREST 

2.  The/  crack'd 

FORM 

3.  A  hollow/ 

1.  A  late  lost/ 

2.  no  more  of  transient/ 

1.  to  fix  itself  to/ 

2.  Eternal/ 

3.  Where  thy  first/ 

2.  The  same  sweet/crww 

10.  seem  to  lift  the/ 

11.  in/  and  gloss 

2.  Come,  wear  the  /. 


FORM  (continued) 

91.  4.  in  thine  after/ 

95.  12.  matter-moulded /)rwjj 

105.  5.  keep  an  ancient/ 

106.  4.  forms  of  party  strife 
III.  2.  veil  His  want in/<jr»;j 
118.  3.  seeming-random/<7r»M 
123.  2.  flow  From/  to/. 

FORTRESS 

71.     4.     The  /  and  the  moun- 
tain-ridge 
127.     4.     The/  crashes 

FORTUNE 

64.    4.     /^.'i  crowning  slope 

FOUNTAIN 

85.  7.     show'd  him  in  the/ 
109.     I.     household  fountains 

FOX-GLOVE 

83.     3.     bring  the/,  spire 

FRAILTY 

52.     2.     human/  do  me  WTong 

FRAME 

T<       =.  in  all  his/ 

.  our  mystic/ 

,.  /  that  binds  him  in 

50.     2.  the  sensuous/ 

78.     5.  all  this  mystic/ 

86.  3.  throughout  my/. 
93.     4.  blindness  of  the/ 

Ep.     3.     changed  the/ 

FRAME-WORIC 

87.  6.    /.  of  the  land 

FRANCE 

71.     I.     went  thro'  summer  F. 
Ep.  20.     grape  of  eastern  F. 

FREEDOM 

109.     4.     a  love  of/ 

109.     4.    /  in  her  regal  seat 

I  FREIGHT 

10.     2.     thy  dark/ 

FRIEND 

6.  I.  Other/wWj  remain 

6.  II.  unto  me  no  second/ 

9.  4.  My/,  the  brother 

12.  4.  Comes  he  thus,  my/ 

41.  3.  at  once,  my/,  to  thee 

57.  2.  my/,  is  richly  shrined 

64.  7.  old/  remember  me 

65.  3.  the  name  of  friends 
bb.  3.  jest  among  h\s,  friends 


142 


Index. 


FRIEND  {co7tttnued) 

GAME 

84. 

3- 

Thy  blood,  myy! 

29. 

2. 

and  g.  and  jest 

8s- 

IS- 

beat    again  For  other 

78. 

3- 

our  ^.ncxftxw.  games 

friends 

102. 

5- 

in  a  losing  g. 

8s. 

25. 

your  pardon,  O  myy! 

105. 

6. 

nor  f .  nor  feast 

87. 

6. 

yo\yCt\\\Afrie7ids 

98. 

4- 

f.   from  y.    Is  oftener 

GARDEN 

parted 

43- 

3- 

Still  g.  of  the  souls 

100. 

I. 

memory  of  my_/! 

lOI. 

5- 

the  g.  and  the  wild 

J02. 

4. 

with  thy  lost/; 

GARDEN-WALK 

114. 
126. 

6. 
I. 

Oyi,  who  earnest 
tidings  of  ray  f. 

102. 

2. 

down  the  gardeii-walks 

129. 

I. 

Dear_/,  far  off 

GATE 

129. 

2. 

Dear  heavenly y; 

8S. 

6. 

the  blessed  g. 

129. 

3. 

Strange/; 

94. 

4. 

listen  at  the  gates 

Ep. 

35- 

Thaty".  of  mine 

GATHER  (verb) 

FRIENDSHIP 

9S- 

IS- 

gatlieruig  freshlier 

85- 

9- 

Of.  equal-poised 

GAZE 

85- 

16. 

half  of  such  \f. 

32. 

2. 

her  ardent  g. 

85. 

20. 

f.  for  the  years  to  come 

GENERATION 

85. 
119. 

28. 
3. 

First  love,  first/! 
/.  of  thine  eye 

40. 

4- 

to  knit  The  getieratiofis 
GENTLE  (adj. ) 

FRINGE 

Ep. 

10. 

g.,  liberal-minded 

72- 

3- 

her  crimson_/>-/«^^j 

GENTLEMAN 

FRITH 

III. 

6. 

grand  old  name  of  g. 

Ep. 

29. 

o'er  the/r////i 

GENTLENESS 

FRONT 

III. 

3. 

The  g.  he  seem'd  to  be 

Ilq. 

2. 

the  h\d.zV/ro7iis 

GHOST 

85. 

9- 

0  solemn  g. 

FROST 

93. 

4- 

My  G.  may  feel 

4- 

3- 

shaken  into_/. 

GIANT 

78. 

2. 

sparkled  keen  with/ 

118. 

I. 

g.  laboring  in  his  youth 

81. 

3- 

My  sudden/ 

GIFT 

FRUIT 

85- 

12. 

gi/is  of  grace 

40. 

5- 

bears  immortal/ 

85. 

3- 

take  the  imperfect^. 

108. 

4- 

take  what/  may  be 

FURROW 

97. 

7. 

g.  of  years  before 

GIRL 

64. 

7- 

in  the/;  musing  stands 

FURY 

52- 
60. 

4- 
I. 

like  an  idle  g. 
Like  some  poor  g. 

GLADE 

SO. 

2. 

Life  a  F.  slinging  flame 

FfKZE 

lOI. 

6. 

lops  the  glades 

GLADNESS 

II. 

2. 

dews  that  drench  the/ 

24. 

3- 

former^. 

30. 

2. 

vain  pretence  Of  g. 

G. 

3'- 

3- 

A  solemn  g. 

32. 

3. 

Borne  down  by  g. 

GAIN 

GLANCE 

54. 

3- 

subserves  another's  g. 

84. 

2. 

In  g.  and  smile 

117. 

I. 

g.  of  after  bliss 

GLASS 

GALE 

6. 

9- 

having  left  the  g. 

2. 

3- 

changes!  not  in  any  g. 

15- 

3- 

plane  of  molten  g. 

Index. 


143 


87. 
107. 


38.   2. 


2. 

3- 

39- 

3- 

43- 

I. 

70. 

I. 

86. 

I. 

93- 

14. 

109. 

3- 

122. 

I. 

Ep. 

30 

24. 

4- 

67. 

I. 

67. 

3- 

6g. 

S- 

88. 

3- 

118. 

5- 

121. 

I 

114.     6. 


Pro. 
6. 


5'- 
54- 
55- 


GLASS  {continued') 
5.    boys  That  crash'd  the ^. 
4.     brim  the  g. 

GLEAM 

doubtful  g.  of  solace 
yonder  greening  g. 

GLEBE 

His  wonted  g. 

GLOBE 

fail  from  off  the  g. 

GLOOM 

thousand  years  of  g. 
g.  is  kindled  at  the  tips 
intervital  g. 
on  the^.  I  strive 
gorgeous  g.  Of  evening 
from  out  the  distant  g. 
no  ascetic  g. 
burst  the  folded  g. 
With  tender  g. 

GLORY 

will  always  win  A  g. 
a  g.  on  the  walls 
mystic  g.  swims  away 
the  g.  of  a  hand 
g.  of  the  sum  of  things 
of  woe  Like  glories 
a.  g.  done 

GLOSS 

keep  her  raven  g. 

GLOW 

not  for  thee  the  g. 
g.  of  southern  skies 
thoughts  on  all  the  g. 

GO  {verb') 
Like  her  I g. 
and  he  is  go}ie 
and  g.  with  us 

GOAL 

final  g.  of  ill 
dull  g.  of  joyless  gray 
the  blessed  g. 
earnest  to  thy  g. 

GOD 

Strong  Son  of  God 
praying  God  will  save 
the  grapes  of  God 
What  then  were  God 
<5o(/ shut  the  doorways 
Ye  watch  like  God 
Goa^hath  made  the  pile 
God  within  the  soul 


GOD  {continued) 
Are    God    and   nature 

then  at  strife 
darkness  up  to  God 
trusted  God  was  love 
It  rests  with  God 
God's  finger  touch'd 
The  God  within  him 
God  and  nature  met 
mix'd  with  God 
who  lives  in  God 
God  v:hici\  ever  lives 
One  God  one  law 

GODS 

gods  in   unconjectured 

bliss 
their  gods  of  gold 

GOLD 

their  gods  of  g. 
narrowing  lust  of  g- 

GOOD 

as  my  natural  g. 
to  me  remains  of  g. 
quicker  unto  g. 
each  the  other's  g. 
Hold  thou  the  g. 
trust  that  somehow  g. 
trust  that  g.  shall  fall 
crown'd  with  g. 
common  love  of  g. 
amorous  of  the  g. 
O  ye  mysteries  of  g. 
a  dream  of  g. 

GOSSAMER 

II.     2.     \.\\&  sWxsry  gossamers 

GOWN 

87.     I.     I  wore  the^. 

GRACE. 

85.  12.     gifts  of  g. 
109.     5.     fused  with  female  g. 

GRADE 

41.     3.     grades  of  life  and  light 

GRAIN 

53.  2.  scarce  had  grown  The .§•. 

65.  I.  g-  shall  not  be  spilt 

81.  3.  all  ripeness  to  the  ^. 

117.  3.  every  g.  of  sand 

GRANGE 

gi.     J.     the  lonely^. 
100.     2.     No  gray  old  if. 


144 


Index. 


35-     6. 

Ep.     20. 


I2S.    5. 
Ep.  24. 


31- 
36. 
39- 
5'- 
55- 
80. 
98. 

122. 

Ep. 

Ep. 


75.     1. 
97-     7- 


Pro. 

10 

4- 

3- 

5- 

I. 

5- 

3- 

II. 

I. 

19. 

3- 

20. 

I. 

20. 

3- 

24- 

61. 

3- 
5- 

75- 

I. 

77- 
78. 
80. 

3. 
4- 
2. 

85. 
85. 
85. 
88. 

2. 

13- 
24. 

2. 

105. 
106. 

3- 
3- 

GRAPE 

GROUND 

crush  "d  the^. 

I. 

3- 

to  beat  the  g. 

The  foaming^. 

41. 

2. 

here  upon  the  g. 

GRASS 

72- 

7- 

beneath  the  g. 

104. 

3- 

new  unhallow'd^. 

grasses  round  me  wave 

tuft  with  g. 

GROVE 

cloudlets  on  the  g. 

lOI. 

4- 

gird  the  windy  g. 

GRAVE 

GROW  {verb) 

vifandering  g. 
grasses  of  the  g. 
•weeping  by  his  g. 
digs  the  g. 

2. 

45- 
Ep. 

4- 
2. 

5- 

g.  incorporate  into  thee 
But  as  he  grows 
grown  To  something 

Ep. 

9- 

For  thee  she  grew 

the  &A.xV  graves  of  men 

GROWTH 

I  wrong  the  g. 

42- 

2. 

train  To  riper  ^. 

fail  beyond  the  g. 

105. 

3- 

like  g.  of  time 

example  from  the  g. 
Above  more  graves 
the  g.  Divide  us  not 

126. 

2. 

GUARD 

his  faithful  g. 

they  pass  the  g. 

GUIDE 

To-day  the  g.  is  bright 

23- 

4- 

was  g.  to  each 

GREATNESS 

GUIDE  [verb) 

thy^.  to  be  guess'd 

US- 

I. 

alone  had  guided  rat 

what  his  g.  is 

GUESS  (verb) 

GREEN 

ISO- 

2. 

I  cannot  g. 

simple  village  g. 

GUEST 

perish'd  in  the  g. 

6. 

8. 

expectation  of  z.  g. 

GREETING 

29. 

2. 

a  welcome  g. 

greetings  to  the  dead 

84, 
89. 

6. 

7- 

myself  an  honor'd  g. 
A  g.  or  happy  sister 

GRIEF 

Ep. 

Conjecture  of  a  stiller^. 

Forgive  my  g. 

g.    hath    shaken   into 

GULF 

41. 

4- 

shudders  at  the  gulfs 

frost 

70. 

2. 

g.  that  ever  shuts 

the  g.  I  feel 

GUST 

that  large  g. 

89. 

5- 

g.  that  round  the  gar- 

a calmer^. 

den  flew 

hush'd  my  deepest  g. 

The  lesser  ^r/>/Jr 

H. 

other  griefs  within 

the  haze  of  g. 

HAIR 

not  the  voice  of  g. 

6. 

7- 

ranging  golden  h. 

measure  of  my  ^. 

69. 

3- 

hoary  hairs 

page  that  tells  A  g. 

84. 

8. 

silver  h. 

Og.c2ing.  be  changed 

HALL 

g.  my  loss  in   him  had 

wrought 
which  is  our  common  g. 

98. 
103. 

8. 
2. 

Imperial  halls 
dwelt  within  a  h. 

lo-j. 

3. 

h.  with  harp  and  carol 

in  my  g.  a  strength 
g.  with  symbols  play 

Ep. 

29- 

The  white-faced  lialls 

midmost  heart  of  g. 

HAMLET 

shall  wayward  g. 

10. 

4- 

kneeling  h. 

Ring  out  the  g. 

28. 

2. 

voices  of  four  fuzmleis 

Index. 


145 


HAMMER 

121.     4.  hear'st  the  village /j. 

HAMMOCK-SHROUD 

6.     4.     heavy-shotted  h. 

HAND 

I.    2.     reach  a  h.  thro'  time 

form  with  empty  hands 
waiting  fcr  a  h. 
h.  that  can  be  clasped 
letters  unto  trembling 

Jiatids 
hands  so  often  clasp'd 
warm  luinds  have  prest 
strike  a  sudden  /:. 
Come  then,  pure  Iiands 
hands  are  quicker 
With  human  hands 
have  shaken  /lands 
stretch  lame  Iiands 
the  labor  of  his  Iiands 
the  glory  of  a  h. 
h.  that  points 
h.  struck  down 
hands  are  set  to  do 
Reach  out  dead  hands 
the  shining  h. 
act  at  human  Jiands 
clapping  Iiands 
the  kindlier  h. 
twine  A  trustful  h. 
higher  h.  must  make 
pressure  of  thine  h. 
out  of  darkness   came 

the  Jiands 
Sweet  human  h. 
to  whom  her  h.  I  gave 
in  her  h.  Is  Nature 

HARDIHOOD 

Sick  for  thy  stubborn  h. 

HARM 

all  her  life  from  h, 

HARP 

sings  To  one  clear  h. 
my  k.  would  prelude 
here  she  brought  the  h. 
with  h.  and  carol  rang 
Nor  h.  be  touch'd 
notes  my  h.  would  give 

HASTE 

tho'  I  walk  in  h. 

HAUNT 

h.  of  fears 


3- 

3- 

7- 

1. 

7- 

2. 

10. 

2. 

10. 

3- 

'3- 

2. 

14- 

3- 

18. 

3- 

33- 

3- 

36- 

3- 

40. 

8. 

55- 

5- 

64. 

7- 

69. 

3- 

70. 

2. 

72- 

S- 

75- 

5- 

So. 

4- 

84- 

II. 

85. 

10. 

87. 

S- 

106. 

8. 

109. 

5- 

114. 

5- 

119. 

3- 

124. 

6. 

129. 

2. 

Ep. 

18. 

Ep. 

33- 

Ep.  12. 


89. 
102. 
105. 


6.  4- 

18.  3- 

23.  I. 

39-  2- 

44.  I. 

68.  I. 

73-  2. 

94.  I. 

Ep.  13. 

Ep.  29. 

Ep.  21. 

Ep.  26. 

57-  4- 

82.  4. 

89.  6. 

98.  5. 


5- 
6. 

2. 
2. 

7- 
8. 

I. 

5- 

II. 

4- 

13- 
18. 

2. 
4- 

19. 

I. 

21. 

2. 

25- 

3- 

27- 

3- 

37- 

4- 

42. 

1. 

52- 
58. 
62. 

1. 
2. 
2. 

63. 
66. 

I. 
I. 

79- 
82. 

I. 
4- 

85-     9- 


HA\-E  {verS) 
wilt  h.  me  wise 

HAZEL 

hazels    tassel-hung 

HEAD 

while  thy  h.  is  bow'd 
bear  the  h.  That  sleeps 
cloak'd  from  h.  to  foot 
toward  the  dreamless  h. 
the  doorways  of  his  h. 
I  sink  my  h. 
h.  hath  miss'd 
sound  in  h. 
tablets  round  her  h. 
every  mountain  h. 

HE.ALTH 

//.  to  bride  and  groom 
the  double  k. 

HEAR 

I  h.  it  now 
cannot  h.  each  other 
were  fed  to  h.  him 
myself  have  heard  him 

HE.\RER 

winch  outran  The  h. 

HE.-\RING 

in  the  //.  of  the  wave 
till  h.  dies 

HEART 

with  my  h.  I  muse 
O  h.,  how  fares  it 
unquiet  h.  and  brain 
but  some  h.  did  break 
my  h.  was  used  to  beat 
O  my  forsaken  k. 
in  my  h.  if  calm  at  all 
where  h.  on  h.  reposed 
falling  on  his  faithful  h. 
The  darken'd  h. 
melt  the  waxen  /tearts 
weary  h.  or  limb. 
h.  that  never  plighted 
an  aching  h. 
vex  my  h.  with  fancies 
the  h.  is  sick 
the  peace  Of  fiearts 
On  some  unworthy  k. 
no  weight  upon  my  h. 
my  h.  too  far  diseased 
not  vex  thee,  noble  h. 
gamers  in  ray  h. 
O  h.  with  kindliest  mo- 
tion 


146 


Index. 


8s. 

27- 

85. 

29. 

88. 

2. 

89. 

6. 

94. 

I. 

94. 

4- 

95- 

6. 

97- 

3- 

97- 

5- 

106. 

8. 

108. 

I. 

119. 

I. 

124. 

4- 

Ep. 

21. 

30. 

I. 

78. 

I. 

98. 

5- 

53- 

3- 

89. 

4 

107. 

5 

icg. 

4- 

118. 

3- 

16 

33 
40 
63 
76, 
90, 
108. 
122, 
Ep, 

23 

47 
63 


53- 
127. 


HEAK-i-  {continued) 
with  the  virgin  k. 
My  h.,  tho'  vvidow'd 
mi'Jmost  h.  of  grief 
h.  and  ear  were  fed 
How  pure  at  h. 
h.  is  full  of  din 
A  hunger  seized  my  h. 
hearts     of     old     have 

beat 
slight  her  simple  /:. 
The  larger  h. 
not  eat  my  h.  alone 
my  h.  was  used  to  beat 
the  h.  Stood  up 
And  liearts  are  warm'd 

HEART-AFFLUENCE 

I.     //.in  discursive  talk 

HEARTH 

4.  by  the  k.  the  children 
round  the  Christmas  h. 
round  the  Christmas  h. 
By  each  cold  h. 

HEAT 

outliving /i<?(ri'j' of  youth 
winking  thro'  the  /;. 
solid  core  of  li. 
not  the  schoolboy  h. 
tracts  of  fluent  k. 

HEAVEN 

Sleep,  gentle  heavens 
bear  thro'  H.  a  tale  of 

woe 
shadow  of  a  h. 
Her  early  H. 
energies  of  h. 
assumptions   up   to  h. 
starry  heavens  of  space 
Where  niehest  h. 
heaven's  highest  height 
the  eternal  Heavens 
in  h.  the  steaming  cloud 

HEIGHT 
On  Argive  heights 
last  and  sharpest  /;. 
higher  h.  a  deeper  deep 

HEIR 

The  hard  h. 

HELL 

the  Lords  of  H. 
the  fires  of  //. 

HERALD 

h.  of  a  higher  race 


HERB 

35.     6.     bruised  the  h. 
95.     I.     the  h.  was  dry 

HERN 

10 1.  4.     haunts  of  h.  and  crake 

HESPER 

121.     1.     //.  o'er  the  buried  sun 

HESPER- PHOSPHOR 

121.     5.     Sweet//.,  double  name 

HILL 

.  a  silence  in  the  kills 

_).  the  lavish  kills 

28.     I.  bells  from  h.  to  k. 

35.     3.  Ionian  hilts 

56.     5.  the  iron  hills 

72.     4.  Along  the  hills 
h.  and  wood 

'.  below  the  golden  kills 

.  the    boundmg  h. 

98.     I.  those  fair /////i 

100.     I.  I  climb  the  h. 

loi.     6.  circle  of  the  hills 

123.     2.  The  kills  are  shadows 

HINT 

14.     5.     No  k.  of  death 
33.     2.     with  .shadow  "d   /;.  con- 
fuse 
44.     2.     a  mystic  h. 

HISTORY 

103.     g.     one  would  chant  the  h. 

HOLD 

28.     4.     my  h.  on  life 
HOLD  {verb) 
27.     4.     I  h.  it  true 

HOLLY 

30.  I.  did  we  weave  The  k. 
78.  I.  did  we  weave  The  k. 
105.     I.     k.  by  the  cottage-eave 

HOLY    LAND 

84.   II.     He  that  died  in  H. 

HOME 

8.  I.  gone  and  far  from /«. 

14.  3.  a  thousand  things  of  h. 

40.  2.  her  latest  leave  of  k. 

102.  2.  ere  we  go  from  /:. 

HOODMAN-BLIND 

78.     3.     dance  and  song  and  k. 

HOPE 

22.     3.     descended  following//. 


Index. 


147 


112. 

125. 
12S. 


6. 

63- 
Ep. 


35- 
39- 
40. 
43- 
46. 
46. 
5>- 
72- 


85.  27. 

94.  I. 

102.  4. 

104.  2. 

105.  3. 

111.  4. 

112.  3. 
126.  I. 
128.  3- 
Ep.  17. 
Ep.  18. 


29-  3- 
3'-  3- 
35-      I- 


HOPE  {contiiniccT) 

8.  when  H.  was  born 

1.  nor  is  there  It.  in  dust 

2.  ^(;/«  and  light  regrets 

4.  hopes  and  fears 

5.  trust  the  larger  h. 
7.  What  /i.  of  answer 
4.  h.  for  years  to  come 

1.  What  h.  is  here 

7.  /:.  of  richer  store 

8.  whose  hopes  were  dim 
15.  The  mighty /ti^A'5 

2.  h.    of    unaccomplish'd 

years 

3.  h.  could  never  hope 

2.  H.  had  never  lost 

3.  fly  with  h.  and  fear 

HORSE 

10.     falling  from  his  h. 

I.     pity  for  a  h.  o'erdriven 
23.     white-favor'd  horses 

HOUND 

I.     my  h.  has  part 


HOUR 

the  victor  hours 

at  that  last  h. 

I  have  been  an  h.  away 

Is  this  an  h. 

but  for  one  h.  O  Love 

the  golden  /;. 

the  widow'd  h. 

the  sliding  h. 

the  growing  h. 

hours  of  still  increase 

the  rolling  hours 

the  dolorous  h. 

remorseless  iron  //. 

bounteous  hours 

the  golden  hours 

an  hour''s   communion 

in  after  hours 

at  this  k.  of  rest 

abuse  The  genial  h. 

office  of  the  social  h. 

from  h.  to  h. 

every  h.  his  couriers 

Wild  Hours  that  fly 

h.   and  happier  hours 

happy  h. 

HOUSE 

dark  h. 

portals  of  the  h. 
From  every  h. 
from  the  narrow  h. 


HOUSE  (cotitinued) 


36. 
60. 

84. 

95- 
97- 

4- 
3- 
3- 
5- 

8. 

Or  builds  the  h. 
In  that  dark  /;. 
one  Of  mine  own  h. 
in   the   h.    light    after 

light 
matters  of  the  h. 

41. 

4- 

HOWLING 

houiliu^s  from  forgotten 
fields 

70. 
115. 

2. 

HUE 

the  hues  are  faint 
takes  a  lovelier  h. 

95- 

6. 

HUNGER 

A  h.  seized  my  heart 

loS. 

3- 

HYMN 
chanting  hymns 

109. 

4- 

HYSTERICS 

blind  h.  of  the  Celt 

107. 
127. 

2. 
3- 

I. 

ICE 

i.  Makes  daggers 
The  spires  of  i. 

52- 

3- 

IDEAL 

that  /.  which  he  bears 

S-i- 

5- 

ILL 

sufEer'd  countless  ills 

8s. 
102. 

13- 
6. 

IMAGE 

i.  comforting  the  mind 
one  pure  /.  of  regret 

94. 
122. 

3- 
2. 

IMAGINATION 

Imaginations  calm 
The  strong  /.  roll 

46. 

3- 

INCREASE 

hours  of  still  i. 

26. 

3- 

INDIFFERENCE 

the  /.  to  be 

54- 
54- 

5- 
5- 

INFANT 

/.  crying  in  the  night 
/.  crying  for  the  light 

49. 

1. 

INFLUENCE 

random  influences 

124. 

2 

INSECT 

insect's  eye 

112. 

I 

INSUFFICIENCY 

glorious  insufficiencies 

148 


Index. 


8s. 

95- 
log. 

"3- 
8S. 


45- 
96. 

Ep. 
94- 


38. 

40. 
?8. 
89. 
122. 


INTELLECT 

12.  All-subtilizing  i. 

12.  ev'n  for  i.  to  reach 

2.  Seraphic  /. 

2.  keen  In  i. 

INTELLIGENCE 

6.     great  Intelligences  fair 

INTEREST 

2.  far  off  /.  of  tears 

IRIS 

6.     under  ranks  Of  /. 

IRON 

6.     i.  dug      from      central 
gloom 

ISLE 

I.     wandering  isles 

3.  Enwind  her  isles 

ISOLATION 

3.  His  /.  grows  defined 

ISRAEL 

6.     /.  made  their  gods 
"  I-WILL  " 
14.     her  sweet  "  /." 

J- 

JAR 

4.  hear  the  household /. 

j.^w 
4.    Jaws  Of  vacant  dark- 


JEST 

3.    J.    among   his  friends 
6.     graceful/. 

JOY 

2.  Noy.  the  blowing  sea- 
son gives 

3.  Joys  the  father  m6ve 
2.  clasps  a  secret/. 

4.  Oh/,  to  him 
4.  the  former  flash  of  /. 

JUDGMENT 

96.     4.     make  his/,  blind 
K. 

KEEL 

9.     3.     Thy  sliding  k. 
10.     I.     noise  about  thy  k. 


KEY 
23.     2.     keys  pi  all  the  creeds 
26.     4.     waiting  with  the  keys 
64.     3.     clutch  the  golden  keys 

KIND 
66.     2.     kindly  with  my  k. 
79.     2.     are  one  in  k. 
85.     2.     What  ^  of  life 
108.     I.     shut  me  from  my  k. 

KINDRED 

74.     2.     Thy  k.  with  the  great 

KINE 

95.     4.     The  white  k.  glimmer"d 
95.   13.     The  white  k.  glimmer'd 

KING 

98.  5.     the  blaze  of  kin£^s 
III.     I.     By  blood  a  k. 
126.     I.     my  Lord  and  A". 
126.     2.     my  K.  and  Lord 

KISS 

117.     3.     /^.  of  toothed  wheels 

KISS  {iierh) 
Ep.  23.     Farewell,  we  k. 

KNEE 

79.     4.     At  one  dear  k. 
Ep.   12.     danced  her  on  my  k. 

KNOLL 

95.  13.     reveal'd  The  knolls 

KNOW  {verb) 
6.     5.     Ye  k.  no  more  than  I 
35-     4-     to     k.     that     I     shall 

die 
47.     2.     I  shall  k.  him 

59.  4.     howsoe'er  I  k.  thee 

60.  2.     she   knows  not  what 
85.   10.     could  better  k.  than  I 

96.  2.     I  k.  not ;  one  indeed  I 

kneiv 

99.  5.     They  k.  me  not 

110.     3.     and      he     knew      not 

why 
129.     2.     Kiiozvn  and  unknown 

KNOWLEDGE 

Pro.     6.     /!■.     is     of     things     we 

see 
Pro.     7.     Let  ,^.  grow  from  more 
to  more 
16.     4.     my  k.  of  myself 
85.     7.     k.  that  the  sons  of  flesh 
114.     I.     Who  loves  not /r. 
Ep.   33.     shall  look  On  k. 


Index. 


149 


LABOR 

64.     7.     reaps  the /.  of  his  hands 
84.     7.     thy  prosperous  /.  fills 
87.     6.     /.     and     the   changing 
mart 

LABORER 

year  by  year  the  /.  tills 

LABURNUM 
Laburnums  dropping- 
wells  of  fire 

LABYRINTH 

the  /.  of  the  mind 

LADING 

The  /.  of  a  single  pain 

LAKE 

than  some  dead  /. 

LAMP 

all  is  gay  with  lamps 

LANCE 

many  a  shiver'd  /. 

LAND 

from  foreign  latids 
hadst  touch'd  the  /. 
violet  of  his  native  /. 
lands  where  not  a  leaf 
sweep  the  winter  /. 
in  undiscover'd  lands 
guided  thro'  the  /. 
strides  about  their  lands 
from  the  native  /. 
In  la?ids  where   not  a 

memory  strays 
their  lives  From  /.  to  /. 
the  solid  liutds 

LANDING-PLACE 

Some  I.,  to  clasp 

LANI>MARK 

Nor  /.  breathes 

LANDSCAPE 

eternal  /.  of  the  past 
The  /.  winking 
Of  all  the  /.  underneath 
year  by  year  the  /.  grow 

LANE 

1 19.     2.     /.  of  early  dawn 

LANGUAGE 

5.     2.     use  in  measured  /.  lies 
54.     5.     no  /.  but  a  cry 


14- 
18. 

I. 
I. 

23- 

3- 

30- 
40. 
66. 

3- 
8. 
3- 

90. 

4- 

93- 

I. 

104. 

3- 

115. 

5- 

123- 

2. 

47- 

4- 

104. 

3 

46. 
89. 

2 
4 

100. 

I 

lOI. 

5 

91. 
16. 

68. 
lis. 

70. 

37- 

33 
48 
73 
85 
87, 
89 
122 


89.  I. 

95.  I. 
II5-  3- 

48.  I. 

48.  4. 

76.  2. 

96.  4. 

127-  3- 

31.  I. 

64.  7. 


LARCH 

1.  plumelets  tuft  the  /. 

LARK 

3.  the  shadow  of  a  /. 

4.  /.  had  left  the  lea 

2.  /.  a   sightless  song 

LATTICE 

4.     thro'  a  I.  on  the  soul 

LAUREL 

2.     hear  thy  /.  whisper 

LAW 

holding  by  the  /.  within 
serves  a  wholesome  /. 
that  errs  from  /. 
loyal  unto  kindly  laws 
in  the  bounds  of  /. 
purlieus  of  the  /. 
her  motion  one  with  /. 


LAWN 

the  floor  Of  this  flat  /. 
we  linger'd  on  the  /. 
lights  on  /.  and  lea 

LAY 

these  brief  lays 
trust  a  larger  /. 
deepest  lays  are   dumb 

LAY  (verb) 
And  laid  them 

LAZAR 

the  /.  in  his  rags 

LAZARUS 

L.  left  his  charnel-cave 

LEA 

his  native  /. 

LEAF 

thro'  the  faded  /. 
leaves  that  redden 
The  last  red  /. 
not  a  /.  was  dumb 
many  a  figured  /. 
seem'd  to  touch  it  into  /. 
Thy  /.  has  perish'd 
the  darkening  I. 
those  fail'n  leaves 
leaves  of  the  sycamore 
brown  Of  \u.s\\er  leaves 
The  dead  I.  trembles 

LEAGUE 

leagues  of  odor 


150 


Index. 


LEARN  {verb) 

LIFE  {continued) 

103 

5- 

And  when  they  learnt 

28. 

4- 

my  hold  on  /. 

LEAVE 

32. 

2. 

rest  upon  the  L.  indeed 

40 

58 

2. 
3- 

latest  /.  of  home 
take  a  nobler  i. 

32. 
33- 

4- 
2. 

blest  whose  lives 

I.  that  leads  melodious 

days 
My  own  dim  /. 

59 

3- 

I.  at  times  to  play 

34- 

I. 

LEAVE  [verb) 

34- 

I. 

/.    shall   live  for   ever- 

100 

5- 

leaving  these  to  pass 

more 

103 

12. 

wilt  thou  /.  us  now 

40. 

5- 

/.  that  bears   immortal 

114 

6. 

leaving  me  behind 

fruit 

4i- 

6. 

evermore  a  /.  behind 

LEDCE 

46. 

I. 

Lest  /.  should  fail 

37 

2. 

ledges  of  the  hill 

5=- 

4- 

/.  is  dash'd  with   flecks 

LEGACY 

53- 

3- 

I.  outliving  heats 

84 

9- 

legacies  of  thought 

54- 
55- 

2. 
I. 

/.  shall  be  destroyed 
No  /.  may  fail 

LEGEND 

55- 

2. 

careless  of  the  single  /. 

62 

I. 

fading  I.  of  the  past 

56. 

2. 

I  bring  to  /. 

56. 

7. 

0  /.  as  futile,  then 

LENGTH 

57- 

2. 

my  /,  I  leave  behind 

70 

3- 

lazy  lengths 

66. 

2. 

my  /.  was  crost 

LESSEN  (verb) 

80. 

2. 

grief  as  deep  as  /. 

59 

3- 

Nor  will  it  /. 

82. 
82. 

I. 
4- 

no  lower  /. 

our  liz'es  so  far  apart 

LESSON 

84. 

I. 

/.  that  ]iad  been  thine 

79 

4- 

One  /.  from  one  book 

84. 

3- 

link  thv  /.  with  one 

LETHE 

85. 

85. 

2. 

8. 

What  kind  of  /. 
Whose        /.        whose 

98 

2. 

wisp  that  gleams  On  L. 

thoughts 

LETTER 

85. 

12. 

A  /.  that  all  the  Muses 

10 

2. 

letters  unto   trembling 

deck'd 

hands 

85. 

24. 

pining  /.  be  fancy-fed 

67 

2. 

letters  of  thy  name 

86. 

3- 

The  full  new  /. 

84 

6. 

flowery  walk  Of  letters 

90. 

2. 

resume  their  /. 

95 

6. 

letters  of  the  dead 

95- 

16. 

like  /.  and  death 

97- 

5- 

Her  /.  is  lone 

LEVER 

105. 

4- 

lives ^re  chiefly  proved 

"3 

4- 

/.  to  uplift  the  earth 

113. 

3- 

A  /.  in  civic  action 

LICENSE 

.15. 

4- 

that  live  their  lives 

116. 

2. 

I.  re-orient  out  of  dust 

27 

2. 

His  /.  in  the  field  of  time 

118. 

5- 

/.  is  not  as  idle  ore 

LIE 

121. 

2. 

/.  is  darken'd 

I2i 

3. 

play'd  with  gracious  lies 

122. 

4- 

thoughts  of  /. 

128 

4- 

with  glorious  lies 

Ep. 

9- 

her  /.  was  vet  in  bud 

Ep. 

12. 

shielded  all  her  /. 

LIFE 

Ep. 

13- 

living  words  of  I. 

Pre 

.      2. 

Thou  madest  L. 

Ep. 

19. 

the  light  of  I.  increased 

2 

2. 

little  lives  of  men 

Ep. 

32- 

/.  of  lower  phase 

6 

3. 

Hath  still'd  the  /. 

7 

3. 

the  noise  of  I. 

LIFETIME 

10 

2. 

a  vanish'd  /. 

75- 

3- 

half  the  /.  of  an  oak 

"3 

3- 

a  /.  removed 

LIGHT 

14 

4- 

how  my  /.  had  droop'd 

Pro. 

5- 

broken  lights  of  Thee 

18 

4- 

the  /.  that  almost  dies 

Pro 

8. 

to  bear  thy  /. 

25 

I. 

I  know  that  this  wasi^. 

8. 

2. 

all  the  magic  /. 

26 

3- 

In  more  oil.  true  /. 

9- 

3- 

thro'  early  /. 

Index. 


151 


LIGHT  (continued) 
Sphere  all  your  lights 
like  a  line  of  /. 
/.  from  fancy  caught 
lijiht  The  /.  that  shone 
lose  ourselves  in  I. 
I.  in   many   a  shiver'd 

lance 
when  my  /.  is  low 
in  the  /.  of  deeper  eyes 
change  of  /.  or  gloom 
like  a  finer  /.  in  /. 
/.  after  /.  Went  out 
Mixt  their  dim  lights 
the  frosty  /. 
lights  on  lawn  and  lea 
comes  the  greater  /. 

LIGHTNING 

122.     5.     wizard  lightnings 

LIKENESS 

74.     I.     A  /.  hardly  seen  before 
74.     2.     /.to   the  wise  below 

LILY 

05.   I?.     The  lilies  to  and  fro 


9 

4 

»7 

3 

23 

4 

30 

8 

47 

4 

49 

I. 

SO 

I 

62 

3 

8s 

19 

9' 

4 

95 

5- 

93 

16 

106 

I 

"S 

3 

121 

3 

103. 

87. 


64.     6. 


41. 
Ep. 


i 
iS 

4- 

32 

4- 

39 

3 

48 

4- 

84 

7 

iig 

3 

•23 

3- 

LliMB 

heart  or  /. 
wax'd  in  every  /. 

LIME  {tree') 
long  walk  of  limes 
LIME  (}nineraT) 
Nature's  earth  and  /. 

LIMIT 

/.  of  his  narrower  fate 

LINK 

A  /.  among  the  days 
I  have  lost  the  links 
close  /.  Betwixt  us 

LINNET 

as  the  linnets  sing 

/.  born  within  the  cage 

hears  the  latest  /.  trill 

LIP 

from  thy  lying  /. 
breathi.  g  thro'  his  lips 
murmur  on  thy  /. 
from  thy  lying  lips 
loosens  from  the  /. 
fills  The  lips  of  men 
ihy  lips  are  bland 
lips  may  breathe  adieu 


21.  7. 

107.  5. 

109.  2. 

26.  I. 


18, 
49 
69 
Ep 

8, 
23 
64 

97 
97 
Ep, 

Pro. 

Pro. 
6. 
42. 
53- 
55- 

1 12. 

126. 

126. 


LITTLE-ONE 

little-oties  have  ranged 

LOG 

Bring  in  great  logs 

LOGIC 

Impassion'd  /. 
LONG  {verb) 
for  I  /.  to  prove 

LOOK 

This  /.  of  quiet 
Treasuring  the  /. 
look  thy  /. 
the  /.  was  bright 
they  meet  thy  /. 

LOOK  (verb) 
To  /.  on  her  that  loves 
looking  back  to  whence 
Dost  thou  /.  back 
I  look' d  on  these 
He  looks  so  cold 
And  how  she  look'd 

LORD 

Thou,  O  L.  art  more 
not  from  man,  O  L. 
her  future  L. 
I.  of  large  experience 
to  the  Lords  of  Hell 
I  feel  is  Lord  of  all 
lesser  lords  of  doom 
Love  is  and  was  my  L. 
my  King  and  L. 

LOSE  {verb) 

which  thou  hast  lost 

I  shall  not  /.  thee 


LOSS 

I 

I 

2 
3 

in  /.  a  gain  to  match 
to  be  drunk  with  /. 

6 
6 
•3 
41 
77 

I 
2 
2 

4 

L.  is  common 
That  /.  is  common 
a  /.  for  ever  new 
ere  our  fatal  /. 
To  breathe  my  /. 

LOT 

92 
103 

2 
12 

where  our  lots  are  cast 
Bewail'd  their  /. 

LOVE 

Pro 

I 
I 
6 

.     I 
3 

4 

7 

immortal  L. 
Let  L.  clasp  grief 
long  result  of  /. 
waitest  for  thy  /. 

152 


Index. 


9- 

3- 

25- 

2. 

25- 

3- 

32. 

2. 

32. 

4. 

35- 

2. 

35- 

4- 

35- 

S- 

37- 

4- 

43- 
46. 

4- 
4- 

47- 

3- 

SI- 

2. 

S'- 

3- 

52- 

I. 

52. 

2. 

59- 
62. 

3- 
I. 

65- 

I. 

77- 

4- 

81. 

1. 
I. 

81. 

2. 

S4- 

10. 

85. 

3- 

85. 

3- 

^^5- 

16. 

85. 

25- 

85. 

26. 

''5- 

27- 

f^s. 

29- 

'/O- 

1. 

95- 

7- 

97- 

I. 

97- 

4- 

102. 

2. 

106. 

6. 

106. 

6. 

1 10. 

5- 

1 12. 

2. 

114. 

3- 

118. 

1. 

128. 

130. 

130. 
Ep. 
Ep. 


LOVE  (continued) 
our  pure  /. 
needed  help  of  L. 
mighty  Z.  would  cleave 
one  deep  /. 

loves   in    higher  /.  en- 
dure 
for   one   hour,  O  L. 
L.  would  answer 
L.  had  not  been 
human  I.  his  dues 
/.  will  last 

0  L.,  thy  province 
L.  on  earth 

1  be  lessen'd  in  his  /. 
Shall  /.  be  blamed 
/.  reflects  the  thing 
Spirit  of  true  /. 
creature  of  my  /. 
my  /.  an  idle  tale 
Love's,  too  precious 
/.    more      sweet     than 

praise 
the  costliest  /.  in  fee 

1.  My  /.  shall  now  no  fur- 
ther range 

now    is    /.    mature    in 

ear 
L.  then  had  hope 
hnk'd  with  thine  in  /. 
whether  /.  for  him 
My  capabilities  of  /. 
I  woo  your  I. 
I.  with  /. 
with  /.  as  true 
First  /.  first  friendship 
rest  Quite  in  the  /. 
He  tasted/. 
love's  dumb  crv 
My  /.  has  talk'd 
/.  has  never  past  away 
spirits  of  a  diverse  /, 
the  /.  of  truth  and  right 
6.     the  common  /.  of  good 
the  /.  that  will  not  tire 
room  Of  all  my  /. 
cut  from  /.  and  faith 
human  /.  and  truth 

2.  or  /,.  but  play'd 

1.  L.  is  and  was  my  Lord 

2.  Z.  is  and  was  my  King 
I.     /.  that  rose 

3.  /.   involves  the   /.   be- 

fore 
3.     My  /.  is  vaster  passion 
3.     yet  is  /.  not  less 
5.     but  /.  is  more 


27. 

4 

42. 

3- 

52. 

I. 

85. 

I. 

85. 

I. 

89. 

10. 

97- 

5 

97- 

7 

110. 

4 

129. 

1. 

129. 

3 

130. 

2. 

LOVE  {verb) 
to  have  loved  and  h  st 
loves  but  knows  not 
I    cannot   /.  thee  as    I 

ought 
to  have  loved  and  lost 
never  to  have  loved 
he  loved  to  rail 
He  loves  her  yet 
she  loves  him  more 
And  loved  them  more 
O  loved  the  most 
to  be  Loved  deeplier 
therefore  /.  thee  less 

LOVE-LANGUAGE 

102.  3.     low  /.  of  the  bird 

LOVELINESS 

36.     3.     In  I.  of  perfect  defeds 

LOVER 

8.     I.     A  happy  /. 

LOWER  (adj.) 
129.     I.     a  /.  and  a  higher 

LOWING 

99.     I.     lowhtgs  of  the  herds 

LOWNESS 

24.     3.     /.  of  the  present  state 

I.OVAL-HEARTED  (adj.) 

no.     2.     On  thee  the  I.  hung 

LYRE 

96.     2.     touched  a  jarring  /. 
M. 

MAIDEN 

40.  I.  As  on  a  tn.  in  the  day 

77.  2.  \.o  curl  3.  }n aide n'sXocV.s 

103.  2.  maidens  with  me 

103.  7.  maidens            gather'd 

strength 

103.  12.  tnaidensvinh  one  xmwA 

Ep.  17.  maidens  oi  the  place 

MAIDENHOOD 

6.   II.     perpetual  ;«. 

MAIN 

II.     3.     the  bounding  ;«. 
MAKE  (verb) 
Pro.    3.     Thou  hast  made  him 
42.     I.     that  made  me  dream 
62.     I.     could    w/.   thee   some- 
what blench 


Index. 


^53 


Pro.  2. 
Pro.  3. 
Pro.    9. 


MAKE  {veri)  {continited) 
68.     3.     Which  tnakes  me  sad 
102.     4.     Jtiade  them  trebly  dear 


MAM 

Thou  madest  life  in  tn. 

Thou  madest  in. 

lives  from  tn,  to  ?«. 

7nen  may  rise  on  step- 
ping-stones 

tn.   that  loved  and  lost 

the  little  lives  of  tnen 

travell'd  men 

human-hearted  m. 

The;«.  I  held  as  half- 
divine 

that  delirious  »t. 

waxen  hearts  of  iTien 

the  Shadow  fear'd  of  m.. 

voice  that  ;«.  could 
trust 

nothing  lost  to  wz. 

the  in.  is  more  and  more 

had  in.  to  learn  himself 

such  as  men  might  scorn 

men  the  flies  of  latter 
spring 

A  sober  in.  among  his 
boys 

grain  by  which  a  m. 
may  live 

M.  her  last  work 

first  form  was  made  a  m. 

some  divinely  gifted  m. 

Of  men  and  minds 

in  a  dead  man's  ia.ce 

A  m.  upon  a  stall  shall 
find 

The  lips  of  ii:en 

mighty  hopes  that  made 
Ui  men 

picturesque  of  in.   and 


MAN  {continued) 


98. 

S- 

99. 

I 

103. 

II 

103. 

II 

io6 

8 

109. 

2 

no. 

I 

114. 

I 

iiS. 

3 

m.      whose       thought 

would  hold 
The   dead   in.   touched 

me  from  the  past 
at  the  heels  of  men 
the  flo  .var  of  men 
The  m.  we  loved 
thrice  as  large  as  in. 
Ring  in  the  valiant  m. 
the  doubts  of  m. 
men  of  rathe  and  riper 

years 
May  she  mix  With  men 
at  the  last  arose  the  in. 


120. 

124. 
124. 

3- 
4, 
6. 

Let  him,  the  wiser  m. 
like  a  in.  in  wrath 
no  m.  understands 

124. 

Ep. 
Ep. 

6. 
32- 
35- 

moulding  men 

Result  in  ;«. 

m.  that  with  me  trod 

MANHOOD 

Pro. 
36. 

S3- 
109. 

4- 
I. 

I. 
5- 

The  highest,  holiest  in. 

Tho'  traths  in  in.  dark- 
ly join 

Who  wears  his  in. 

m.  fused  with  female 
grace 

.MANNER 

106. 
III. 

4- 
4- 

sweeter  manners 
To  noble  manners 

MANTL£ 

22. 

4- 

spread  his  m.  dark  and 

cold 

MAPLE 

lOI. 

I. 

This  m.  burn  itself  away 

MARBLE 

67. 

2. 

Thy  m.  bright  in  dark 

MARCH 

91. 

I. 

the  sea  blue  bird  of  M. 

MARGE 

12. 

3- 

weeping  on  the  m. 

46.     2.     m.  to  in.  shall  bloom 
46.     4.     warmth  from  m.  to  in. 

MARK 

53.     4.     push  beyond  her  m. 
87.     8.     he  Would  cleave  the  tn. 

MARRIAGE-LAY 

Ep.     I.     Demand  not  thou  a  in. 

MARY 

31.     I.     home  to  .Clary's  house 

MASK 

18.  3.  wears  the  m.  of  sleep 
70.  I.  hollow  masks  of  night 
105.     3.     tn.  and  mime 

MAST 

9.     2.     RufHe  thy  mirror'd  m. 

MASTER 

20.     I .     Where  lies  the  in. 
37.     6.     in  the  master's  field 

MASTER-BOWMAM 

87.     8.     And  last  the  tn. 


154 


Index. 


MASTERDOM 

102.     2.     Contend  for  loving  m. 

MATE 

41-     5-     be  thy  m.  no  more 
64.     6.     that  was  his  earliest  ;«. 

MATTER 

62.     3.     m.  for  a  flying  smile 
97-     5.     matters  dai  k  and  deep 
97.     8      matters  of  the  house 

MAY 

22.     2.     from   iV/  to  M. 
76-     4-     With  fifty  Mays 

MAZE 

lis-     I      every  ?«.  of  quick 

MEAD 

103.     6.     many  a  level  m. 

MEADOW 

99-     2.     meadows  breathing   of 

the  past 
119-     I-     the  ;«.  in  the  street 

MEANING 

55-     3-     secret  tn.  in  her  deeds 

MEASURE 

48.     3-     m.    from   the  chords 
75-     '•     the  jn.  of  ray  grief 

MEET  (verb) 
8.     3.     we  two  were  wont  to  m. 
23-     S-     all  we  met  was  fair 
24.     2.     good  and  fair  we  met      \ 

MEETING 

85.  25.     prove  A  m.  somewhere 

MELODY 

38.     2.     melodies  of  spring 

MELPOMENE 

37-     3-     my  M.  replies 

MEMORY 

clear  «/.  may  begin 
uiemories  half  divine 
I  hear  a  wind  Of  m. 
m.  like  a  cloudless  air 
to  reach  Thro'  ;«. 
Memories  of  bridal 
m.  of  my  friend 
year  by  year    our   m. 
where  not  a  ni.  strays 
thousand  memories  ciW 
my  drooping  M. 

MERCHANT 

13-     5-     merchant's  bales 


45- 
90. 

92. 
94- 
95- 
99- 
100. 


4- 


6. 

3- 

.11.  3. 
i^p.  20. 


104. 


MERIT 

Pro.     9.     m.  lives  from   man   to 

man 
64-     3-     by  force  his  m.  known 

MESSAGE 

12.     I.     dolorous  711.  knit  below 
85-     5-     this  w.  falls 

MICHAEL   ANGELO 

87.   ID.     The  bar  of  M. 

MIGHT 

41-     3-     wing  my  will  with  ;«. 
108      2.     yearning,  tho'  with  m. 

MILK 

89-  13-     ;«.  that  bubbled 

MILL 

89.   to.     yonder  social  tn. 

MIND 

Pro.    7.     m.  and  soul  according 

3-  4-     threshold  of  the  m. 

12.  2.     nerves  without  a  »«. 

18.  5.     forms  the  firmer  m. 

20.  2.     the  fulness  from  the  w«. 

32.  I.     thought  her  ?«.  admits 

41-  6.  with  an  upward  m. 

42.  2.     the  m.  and  will 

45-  3-     to  a  separate  »«. 

62.  2.  to  wed  an  equal  ?«. 

66.  2.  a  desert  in  the  jn. 

77-  3-  a  long-forgotten  m. 

79-  2.  forms  in  either  ;«. 

85.  13.  comforting  the  ?«. 

87.  6.  w.  and  art  and  labor 

III.  4-  growth  of  noble  jn. 

;i4.  6.  she  is  earthly  of  the  >«. 

MINE  {pronoun) 

29.  2.  ^f.,  m.  forever,  ever  m. 

MINSTREL 

06.     5.     ring  the  fuller  w.  in 

MINT 

79-     2.     nature's  m. 

MISS  {verb) 
40.     7.     that  ;«ijj-V  her  most 

MISSION 

Ss-     9.     Her  lavish  m. 
■3.     3.     A  soul  on  highest  m. 
28.     3.      If  this  weie  all  your  w. 
MIST 

28.  I.  each   other  in  the  tn. 

>7.  4-  I  know  the  m.  is  drawn 

H-  I.  folded  in  the  ;«. 

!3.  2.  They  melt  like  /«. 


Index. 


155 


59.  I. 

35-  3- 

Pro.  8. 

120.  I. 

106.  4. 

76.  I. 

56.  6. 


MISTRESS 

No  casual  m. 

MO.\NING 

ntoanings  of  the  home- 
less sea 

MOCK  {verb) 
We  tn.  thee 

MOCKERY 

Magnetic  mockeries 

MODE 

the  nobler  modes 

MOMENT 

in  a  ;«.  set  thy  face 

MONSTER 

A  ;«.  then,  a  dream 

MONTH 

all-assuming  monihs 
tho'  the  montlis 

MOOD 

My  lighter  inoods 
envy  not  in  any  moods 
sluggish  moods 
harsher  moods  remit 
harsher  moods  aside 
in  livelier  moods  I 

MOON 

secret  from  the  latest  m. 
No  lapse  of  mootis 
The  )«.  is  hid 
tnoons  shall  wane  | 

the  summer  moons  1 

to  the  brightening  ?«.      j 
The  sailing  m. 
The  m.  is  hid 
glowing  like  the  m. 
rise,  O  >«. 

MOONLIGHT 

on  my  bed  the  >«.  falls 
oS  my  bed  the  m.  dies 

MORASS 

m.  and  whispering  reed 

MORN 

II.     I.     Calm  is  the  m. 

30.     8.     Rise,    happy    m.    rise 

holy  m. 
84.     8.     promise  of  a  tn.  as  fair 
Ep.   15.     symbols  of  a  joyful  m. 


85. 

17- 

92. 

3- 

20. 

3- 

27- 

1. 

35- 

6. 

48. 

2. 

5^- 

2. 

89. 

8. 

21. 

5- 

26. 

I. 

28. 

I. 

77- 

2. 

83. 

2. 

89. 

7- 

lOI. 

4- 

104. 

I. 

Ep. 

7- 

Ep. 

28. 

67. 

1. 

67. 

3- 

100. 

2 

6. 

9- 

40. 

100. 


76. 


64. 


37.     6. 


37- 
58. 

85. 
109. 


6. 
116. 


Pro. 
3- 


77- 
87. 
95- 


MORNING 

4.     with  m.  wakes  the  will 
2.     Never  m.  wore 

2.  creep  At  earliest  m. 

MOSS 

II.     lying  couch'd  in  >«. 

MOTH 

3.  tn.  with  vain  desire 

MOTHER 

4.  O  m.  praying 

5.  Dear  as  the  m. 

3.  on  the  tnoi/ier^s  face 

4.  motliers  of  the  flock 

MOTION 

3.  all  thy  motions 

4.  muffled  motions 

3.  vaster  motiotis 

9.    kindliest  tti.  warm 
2.     In  all  her  m. 

MOULDERING 

2.  the  m.  of  a  yew 

MOUNT.MN-GROUND 

1.  misty  ;«. 
.MOVE  (verb) 

4.  movitig  up  from  high 

MURMUR 

4.     dull'd  the  »2.  on  thy  lip 

3.  m.  of  a  happy  Pan 

2.  A     single    m.    in     the 

breast 

MUR.MUR  (verb) 
I  mumncr'd,  as  I  came 

MUSE 

an  earthly  M. 
The  high  M  answer'd 
all  the  Miises  deck"d 
all  the  mitses'  walk 

MUSE  (verb) 
tniised  on  all  I  had 
while  I  m.  alone 

MUSIC 

make  one  tn.  as  before 

all  the  m.  in  her  tone 

Were  mellow  m. 

a  wizard  tn. 

Shall  ring  with  nt. 

tn.  in  the  bounds  of  law 

iEonian  m. 


156 


Index. 


MUSIC  {contifiued) 
g6.     3.     he  beat  his  tn.  out 
03.   14.     A  m.  out  of  sheet 
2p.     I.     }n.  more  than  any  song 

MYRIAD 

unto  myriads  more 


99 


37- 
128. 


18.  2. 

36.  I. 

59-  4- 

65-  3- 

67.  2. 

87.  5. 

Ep.  15. 


3- 

3- 

5- 

I. 

41. 

4- 

54- 

I. 

56- 

4- 

69. 

I. 

72- 

5- 

73- 

2. 

79- 

2. 

83- 

I. 

85. 

22. 

109. 

3- 

III. 

2. 

130-     3- 
Ep.   33- 


117.  2. 
103  II. 
73-      I. 


76. 


MYSTERY 

thy  prevailing  mysteries 

0  ye  mysteries  of  good 

N. 

NAME 

Among  familiar  names 
all  blessing  to  the  «. 
tell  what  «.  were  thine 
the  natties  of  friends 
the  letters  of  thy  «. 
n.  was  on  the  door 
sign  your   ttames 

NARCOTIC 
dull  narcotics 

NARROWNESS 

Nor  ever  «.  or  spite 

NATURE 

all  the  phantom,  A''. 
like  A''.,  half  reveal 
tho'  my  «.  rarely  yields 
pangs  of  «. 
Tho'^' A'.,  red  in  tooth 
Nature'' s  ancient  power 
cancell'd  tiature's  best 

1  curse  not  n. 

like  in  nature^s  mint 
expectant  «.  wrong 
Can  clouds  of  «.  stain 
n.  amorous  of  the  good 
let  his  coltish  n.  break 
dying  Nature's  earth 
hands  That  reach  thro' 

n. 
mix'd  with  God  and  N. 
N.  like  an  open  book 

NEARNESS 

Desire  of  «. 

NECK 

fell  in  silence  on  his  n. 

NEED 

what  had  n.  of  thee 

NEEDLE 

to  a  needle's  end 


24 

I 

2.S 

I 

29 

2 

60 

4 

66 

4 

70 

I 

72 

I 

91 

4 

95 

I. 

95 

5- 

103 

I 

104 

I 

105 

4- 

107 

I. 

121 

3 

126 

3 

S3-     I. 
87.     s- 


72.  7. 

83.  2. 

loi.  3. 

Ep.  II. 


29.     4. 
Ep.   12. 


76-     3- 


NEIGHBOR 

the  tieighbors  met 
The  foolish  neighbors 

NERVE 

A  weight  of  nerves 
and  the  tierves  prick 
all  the  «.  of  sense 

NEW-YEAR 

O  sweet  n. 
O  thou  n. 


wandering  isles  of  «. 
the  «.  is  still 
threshold  of  the  «. 
At  n.  she  weeps 
His  n.  of  loss 
hollow  masks  of  «. 
issuing  out  of  n. 
watches  of  the  «. 
By  «.  we  linger'd 
from  me  and  «. 
On  that  last  n. 
the  n.  IS  still 
the  n.  I  loved 
leaving  n.  forlorn 
fresher  for  the  n. 
In  the  deep  ?i. 

NOISE 

full  of  foolish  «. 
all  within  was  n. 

NOON 

Climb  thy  thick  n. 
the  clouded  noons 
At  n.  or  when  the   les- 
ser wain 
the  «.  is  near 

NOTE 

her  n.  is  gay 
her  n.  is  changed 
some  bitter  notes 

NOTHING 

I  care  for  n. 


Gray  nurses 

on  her  nurse's  arm 


OAK 

lifetime  of  an  o. 


Index. 


157 


87. 

S3- 
Ep. 


lit. 

12S. 


31- 

Pro. 
21. 
21. 
37- 

71- 
40. 

87. 

Pro. 

3°- 
34- 

87. 

83- 

118. 

87. 


8.    4 


0.\R 

pulse  of  racing  oars 

o.\T 
the  wild  o. 

OCE.\N 

and  o.  sounds 

OCEAN-MIRRORS 

o'er  o.  rounded  large 

OCE.\N-PLAINS 

Sailest  the  placid  o. 

ODOR 

leagues  of  o. 

OFFICE 

So  kind  an  o. 
Her  o.  there  to  rear 
In  such  great  offices 
o.  of  the  social  hour 
If  all  your  o. 
OLD  (adj.) 
Ring  out  the  o. 

OLIVET 

purple  brows  of  O. 

ONE 

help  Thy  foolish  ones 
And  o.  is  glad 
And  o.  is  sad 
brooding  on  the  dear  o. 

OVlhTM. 

0.  trebly  strong 

ORANGE-FLOWER 

she  wears  her  o. 

ORATION 

The  rapt  o. 

ORB 

orbs  of  light  and  shade 
From  o.  to  o. 
this  o.  of  flame 

ORBIT 

orbits  heavenly-wise 

ORCHIS 

Bring  o. 

ORE 

life  is  not  as  idle  o. 

ORGAN 

their  high-built  organs 
OTHER  [adj.) 

.    as  that  o.  wandering 


OUTLINE 

5.     3.     given  in  <7.  and  no  more 

OVERTHROWING 

113.     5.     With  ovcrihrowings 
OVERWEAR  (z'erb) 
I.     4.     all  he  was  is  over-worn 


77-     3- 


114. 
4S- 
Ep. 


Ep. 

85. 

98. 
Ep. 

113- 


P. 

PAGE 

the  /.  that  tells  A  grief 

P.MN 

tell  him  all  my  /. 


endures  with/. 

3.  parade  of  p. 

3.  lading  of  a  single  />. 

4.  slept  and  woke  with/. 
2.  set  their /<z/«i  at  ease 
2.  mortal  lullabies  of  /. 
4.  no  mark  of  /. 

22.  sympathy  with /. 

PALE 

2.  thro' the  gilded/. 

PALLAS 

3.  some  wild  P. 

PALM  (luind) 
I.     his  tender/,  is  prest 

PALM  {tree) 
8.    palms  of  paradise 

PAN 

3.     murmur  of  a  happy  P. 

PANE 

1.  the  streaming/. 

2.  blazon'd  on  the  panes 

PANG 

2.  pangs  that  conquer  trust 
I.   pangs  of  nature 

PARADE 

3.  /.  of  pain 

PARADISE 

8.     the  palms  of  p. 

PARDON 

25.     I  crave  your/. 

PARK 

6.     By  /.  and  suburb 
24.     to  roam  the  /. 

PARLIAMENT 

3.    a  potent  voice  of  P. 


158 


Index. 


59- 

3 

62. 

3 

85. 

13 

85. 

19 

PARNASSUS 

37-     2-     On  tliy  P.  set  thy  feet 

PART 

6s-  3-  /•  of  mine  may  live 
85.  17.  Can  take  no/,  away 
128.     6.     I  see  in  /. 

PART  {verb) 

25-     3-    P-  it,  giving  half  to  him 

£p.   12.     At  last  must /.  with  her 

PARTAKER 

41.     2.    /.  of  thy  change 

PARTING 

97-     3-     ever}-  p.  was  to  die 

PARTNER 

84.     6.    /.  in  the  flowery  walk 
97-     2.    partners  of  a  married 
life 

PASSENGER 

14-     2.     thy  passengers  in  rank 

PASSION 

My  centred  p. 
other/,  wholly  dies 

my/,  has  not  swerved  | 

my  prime/,  in  the  grave  j 

CO.      J.     \!tie.  passions  •me.eX  \ 

88.     2.    /.  clasps  a  secret  joy  I 

log-     3-    /•  pure  in  snowy  bloom  I 

PAST  '■ 

24.  3-  That  sets  the  /.  | 

24.  4.  the  /.  will  always  win     j 

43-  2.  silent  traces  of  the/. 

46.  2.  landscape  of  the  /. 

62.  I.  fading  legend  of  the/. 

71.  I.  Present  of  the  P.  \ 

105.  4.  hold  it  solemn  to  the/. 

PASTIME 

30.     2.     P^x  owr  o\A  pastimes 

PATH 

22.  I.  /.by  which  we  twain 

22.  3.  where  the/,  we  walk'd 
40.  8.  patJis  are  in  the  fields 
68.  2.  /.  was  fresh  with  dew 
73-  3-  /■  that  each  man  trod      ; 
84.  8.  paths  of  growing  pow- 
ers I 

PATHWAY 

23.  2.     where  the /.  leads 

PATIENCE 

34-     3-     A  little  /.  ere  I  die 


28. 

3 

29. 

I 

34- 

4 

46. 

3 

ss. 

2 

80. 

2. 

90. 

5- 

06. 

7 

PAUL 

Like  P.  with  beasts 

PEACE 

P.  and  goodwill 
household/, 
to  sink  to/, 
in  a  wealthy/, 
idl)'  broke  the  /. 
but  stay'd  in/, 
pillars  of  domestic/, 
thousand  years  of  /. 

PEAL 

104.     2.     A  single/,  of  bells 

PEAR 

Sg.     5.     the  mellowing /^arj 

PEER 

44-     3-     ranging  with  thy /f^rj 

PEOPLE 

I-     4-     the/,  throng 
64-     4-     pillar  of  a /^c//^'j  hope 
97-     4-     the  faithless/,  say 

PBRFECTNESS 

112.     I.     narrower/. 

PERFUME 

95-  14-     the  still  /. 

PHANTOM 

3-     3-     the/,  nature 
20.     4.     noiseless  pluintotns 
108.     3.     mine  own/. 

PHANTOM-WARNING 

92.     3.     prove  the  /.  true 

PHASE 

65.     2.     painful //mj^j 

PHILOSOPHY 

23-     6-     many  an  old/. 
SI-     4.     divine  P. 

PHOSrHOR 

g.     3-     till  P.  bright 
121.     3-     Bright  P. 

PICTURE 

78-     3-     mimic  picture''s 
80.     3.    /.  in  the  brain 

PILE 

54-     2.     made  the/,  complete 

PILLAR 

64.     4.     /.  of  a  people's  hope 
90.     5.    pillars     of     domestic 
peace 


Itidex. 


159 


II3- 
114- 


PILLAR  (continued') 
3.    /.     steadfast 
I.     shall  fix  H&r piliars 

PIPE 

I.    pipes  whereon  to  blow 

PIPING 

3.     with  his  /.  he  may  gain 

PITY 

1.  p.  for  a  horse 

PLACE 

2.  waste  places 
2.     all  the  /.  is  dark 

1.  Her/,  is  empty 

2.  f laces  of  his  youth 
P.  retain  us  still 
In  that  high  p. 
thy  /.  of  rest 
from  its  proper/, 
within  a  lonely/. 
I  find  no/, 
well-beloved  /. 
change  of/, 
false  pride  in  /. 
in  the  highest/. 
Let  her  know  her/, 
my  proper/, 
in  higher  /. 
Thy/,  is  changed 
from  /.  to  /. 

PL.\1N 

3.     yon  great  /. 

S.     or  open  /. 

3.     babble  down  the  /. 

PLAN 

5.     mingles  all  without  a/. 

PLANE 

3.    /.  of  molten  glass 

PLANET 

3.     darkness  of  our/. 
Ep.  35-     trod  This/. 

PLANK 

lightly   down  the  /. 
PLAY  {verb) 
For  him  she  plays 
PLEASE  {z'erb) 
this  will  /.  him  best 

PLEASURE 

/.     from     thine     early 

years 
my/,  may  be  whole 


42. 

2. 

44. 

67. 
83. 

8s- 

4- 
I. 
2. 

28. 

100. 

I. 

102. 

I. 

105. 
106. 

3 
6 

loS. 

3 

114. 

4 

117. 
118. 

I 
4 

121. 

5 

126. 

3 

76. 


4- 
71- 


PLUMELET 

91.     1.     xo^y  plumelets 

POESY 

8.     5.     poor  flower  of  /. 

POET 

34.     2.     some  wild  P. 
89.     6.     Tuscan  poets 

POINT 

87.     9.     From/,  to/. 

POLE 

99.     5.     slumber  of  the  poles 

POOL 

49.     I.     dappled /oo/j 

POPLAR 

72.     I.     blow  the/,  white 

PORCH 

Ep.   17.     pelt  us  in  the/. 
Ep.   iS.     They  leave  the/. 

PORT 

14.     I.     lying  in  the  /. 

PORTAL 

29.  3.    portals  of  the  house 

POWER 

16.     4.     my/,  to  think 
26.     2.     hath  /.  to  see 

30.  7-     With  gather'd /. 

36.     2.     dealt  with  mortal  pow- 
ers 
his  active  powers 
Hath/,  to  give  thee 
growing  poi.vers 
equal  powers 
with  /.  and  grace 
P.  was  with  him 
some  novel  /. 
race  For  /. 

grewest  not  alone  in  /. 
The  P.  in  darkness 
arbitrary  /. 
some  diffusive  /. 
full  of  /. 

PRACTICE 

75.     2.    /.  howsoe'er  expert 

PRAISE 

21.     3.    /.  that   comes   to   con- 
stancy 
75.      I.     /rrt?'.ri-,f  unexpress'd 
75.     3.     a  little  dust  of/. 
77.     4.     more  sweet  than/. 
84.     7.     with  honest/. 


64. 

S- 

75- 

2. 

84. 

8. 

85- 

27- 

87. 

9- 

96. 

S- 

112. 

3- 

114. 

4- 

114. 

7- 

124. 

I. 

128. 

5- 

130. 

2. 

Ep. 

10. 

i6o 


Index. 


37-     I- 


17.    I. 
32.    4- 


103-     7- 

126.    I. 


71.  I. 

85.  14. 

121.  5. 

92.  4. 

119.  3. 

30.  2. 

118.  3. 

106.  6. 

J 10.  2. 

37-  I- 

3-  I. 


43-     4- 
116.     I. 


85.  30. 
85.  30. 


PRATE  {verb) 
Thou  pratest  here 

PRAYER 

/.  Was  as  the  whisper 
faithful  prayers 

PRESENCE 

p.  lordlier  than  before 
in  his/.  I  attend 

PRESENT 

night-long  P. 

in  the  /.  broke  the  blow 

my/,  and  my  past 

PRESENTI.MENT 

spiritual  prese?tti)nenis 

PRESSURE 

the  /.  of  thine  hand 

PRETENCE 

vain  /.  Of  gladness 

PREY 

/.  of  cyclic  storms 

PRIDE 

Ring  out  false/, 
half  disarm'd  of/. 

PRIEST 

many  a  purer/. 

PRIESTESS 

O  P.  in   the   vaults   of 
Death. 

PRIME 

spiritual  /. 
the  crescent/. 

PRIMROSE 

/.  yet  is  dear 

/.  of  the  later  year 

PROCESS 

Eternal  /i.  moving  on 

PROCURESS 

P.  to  the  Lords  of  Hell 


82. 
08. 

PROFIT 

3.     bloom  to/,  othenvhere 
2.     What/,  lies 

35- 

PROFIT  (verb) 
5.     What  profits  it  to  put 

gS. 

PROGRESS 

6.     With  statelier/. 

85. 

27 

92. 

4 

87. 

2 

3S. 

I 

10. 

2. 

46.    4. 


9.    4. 

12.       5. 


S6-     3- 


Sg-    3- 


56.     3- 


100.     3. 
14.     I. 


96.     2. 
124.     2. 


115-     I- 
10.     3. 


PROMISE 

/.  of  a  morn  as  fair 
/.  of  the  golden   hours 

PROPHECY 

seem  ihy  prop^iecies 

PROPHET 

propluts  blazon  "d 

PROSPECT 

My  /.    and    horizon 
gone 

PROUD 

p.  was  half  disarm'd 

PROVINCE 

thy  /.  were  not  large 

PROW 

before  the  /. 
play  About  the  /. 

PSALM 

Who  roU'd  the  /. 

PULSATION 

wild  /.  of  her  wings 

PULSE 

My  pulses  therefore 
ever\'/>.  of  wind 
/.  of  racing  oars 
pulses  of  a  Titan's  heart 
A  thousand /«/jfj 

PURLIEU 

dusty  purlieus   of    the 
law 

PURPOSE 

splendid  /.  in  his  eyes 

Q. 

QUARRY 

g.  trench'd  along 

QUAY 

went  down  unto  the  q. 

QUESTION 

a  subtle  g. 

questions  men  may  try 

QUICK 

the  budded  quicks 
every  maze  of  q. 

QUIET 
This  look  of  q. 


Index. 


i6i 


R. 

REEF 

RACE  (runnings) 

36. 

4- 

round  the  coral  r. 

9- 

5- 

my  widow 'd  r. 

REFLEX 

17- 

S- 

my  widow'd  r. 

108. 

3- 

r.  of  a  human  face 

42. 
114. 

I. 
4- 

outstript  me  in  the  r. 
in  her  onward  r. 

REFRACTIO.N 

92. 

4. 

r.  of  events 

RACE  (generation )               | 

REGION 

74- 

I. 

to  some  one  of  his  r. 

78. 

2. 

No  wing  of  wind  the  r. 

102. 
103. 

I. 
9- 

one  of  stranger  r. 
great  r.  which  is  to  be 

swept 

118. 

4- 

herald  of  a  higher  r. 

REGRET 

128. 

2. 

races  may  degrade 

8. 

S- 

my  deep  r. 

Ep. 

32- 

the  crowning  r. 

29. 

I. 

chains  r.  to  his  decease 

RAGE 

40. 

2. 

light  regrets 

27. 

I, 

void  of  noble  r. 

78. 

5- 

0  last  r.,  r.  can  die 
one  pure  image  of  r. 

102. 

6. 

RAIN 

115. 

5. 

r.    Beconies 

7- 

3- 

the  drizzling  r. 

116. 

I. 

r.  for  buried  time 

98. 

8. 

in  emerald  r. 

116. 

3- 

Not  all  r. 

RANGE 

Ep. 
Ep. 

4- 
5. 

a  dead  r. 
R.  is  dead 

93- 

3- 

thy  sightless  r. 

RANK 

REJOICE  (verb) 

60. 

I. 

r.   exceeds  her  own 

130. 

4- 

1  r.  \  1  prosfier 

103. 

6. 

ranks  Of  iris 

RELATION 

III. 

I. 

the  scale  of  ranks 
RAPT  {verb) 

78. 

S- 

Her  deep  relations 

RELIC 

103. 

13- 

So  r.  I  was 

RAVINE 

17- 

5 

precious  relics 

RELIEF 

56. 

4- 

With  r. 

24. 

3 

sets  the  past  in  this  r. 

REACH 

85. 

2 

so  to  bring  r. 

71- 

4- 

the  river's  wooded  r. 

REPLY  {verb) 

REALM 

103. 

13 

but  he  Replying- 

40. 

3- 

realms  of  love 

REPORT 

REASON 

M- 

I 

bring  me  this  r. 

REPROACH 

33- 
61. 

4- 
I. 

countest  r.  ripe 
r.  change  replies 

85. 

4 

Thro'  light  reproaches 

112. 

2. 

art  r.  why 

REST  {repose) 

124. 

4- 

reason's  colder  part 

II. 

5 

sway  themselves  in  r. 

RECORD 

27- 

3 

want-begotten  r. 

3'- 

2. 

lives  no  r.  of  reply 

30. 

5 

surely  r.  is  meet 

52- 

3. 

What  r.  ? 

67. 

I 

thy  place  of  r. 

104. 

2 

this  hour  of  r. 

RED  {adj.) 

99- 

2. 

thro'  thy  darkling  r. 

REST  {remainder) 

31' 

4 

r.  remainethunreveal'd 

106. 

3- 

REDRESS 

r.  to  all  mankind 

REED 

Ep. 

22 

perchance  among  the  r. 

RESULT 

84. 

12. 

What  r.  was  that 

I. 

4 

.    the  long  r.  of  love 

100. 

2. 

whispering  r. 

73- 

4 

the    large    results    Of 

103. 

6. 

golden  r. 

force 

l62 


Index. 


RESULT  {contmueJ) 
85.  23.     that  serene  r.  of  all 
128.     3.     results  that    look   like 
new 

RETURN  {verb) 
40.     6.     often  she  herself  r. 
89.  12.     returning  from  afar 

REVEILLfie 

68.     2.     ^.     to    the     breaking 
morn 

REVERENCE 

Pro.  7.  more  of  r.  in  us  dwell 

51.  2.  such  r.  for  his  blame 

84.  8.  r.  and  the  silver  hair 

1:4.  7.  In  r.  and  in  charity 

RHINE 

98.     I.     you  will  see  the  R. 

RHYME 

76.     I.     modern  r. 

106.  5.     my  mournful  rkytnes 
Ep.     6.     idle  brawling  rhymes 

RIB 

107.  3.     Its  lea.less  ribs 

RIBAND 

6.     8.     takes  a  ?-.  or  a  rose 

RICH 

79.     5.     But  he  was  r. 

RIDGE 

71.     4.     the  mountain  r. 

RILL 

37.     2.     beside  thy  native  r. 
Ep.  29.     the  glancing  rills 


Ep. 

6. 

81. 

49- 


IS- 
41. 
92. 
Ep. 


18.     3. 


pierce  an  outer  r. 
The  r.  is  on 

RINGLET 

to  set  a  r.  right 

RIPENESS 

gave  all  r.  to  the  grain 

RIPPLE 

seeming-wanton  r. 

RISE  {verb) 
rises  upward  always 
r.  from  high  to  higher 
often  rises  ere  they  r. 
They  r.,  but  linger 

RITUAL 

the  r.  of  tlie  dead 


17- 

3- 

S4. 

9- 

97- 

I. 

RIVAL 

102.  5.    rivals  in  a  losing  game 

RIVER 

71.     4.  the  rzWrV  wooded  reach 

103.  2.     A  r.  sliding  by  the  wall 

RIVULET 

100.     4.     pastoral  r. 
ROAM  {verb) 
wherever  thou  may'st  r. 

ROBE 

her  earthly  r. 

ROCK 

talk'd  with  rocks 
Rise  in  the  spiritual  r. 

ROCKET 

r.     molten  into  flakes 

ROOF 

102.     I.     The  roofs,  that  heard 

ROOK 

15.     1.     r£>o,^^  are  blown 
85.   18.     the  noise  of  rooks 

ROOM 

4.     rooms    in     which     he 
dwelt 

2.  fillest  all  the  r. 

ROOT 

I.     r<7o^i  are  wrapt  about 

1.  by  ashen  roots 

ROSE 

3.  the  r.  Pull   sideways 

3.  many  roses  sweet 
15.     The  heavy-folded  r. 

9.     foretold  tlie  perfect  r. 

ROSE-CARNATION 

2.  many  a  r.  feed 

ROUND 

2.     This  r.  of  green 

1.  Should  move  his rOT/«at 

RUBBISH 

2.  cast  as  r.  to  the  void 

RUNLET 

4.  r.   tinkling 


SADNESS 

83.     2.     J.  in  the  summer  moons 
96.     5.    J.  flings  Her  shadow 


9S.     8. 


87. 


72. 

95- 
Ep. 


Index. 


163 


12.     3- 

13-     S- 
115-     3- 


37-  6- 

117-  3- 

35-  6. 

32.  3- 

20.  2. 

24.  I. 

35-  2. 


69.  3. 

26.  4. 

69.  3. 

96.  1. 

12S.  6. 


17.  I. 

26.  4. 

35-  3. 

Ep.  19. 


SAIL 

sails  at  distance  rise 
the  approaching  sails 
every  milky  s. 

SAILOR 

the  J.  at  the  wheel 
the  s.  to  his  wife 

SANCTITY 

darken'd  sanctities 

SAND 

every  grain  of  i. 

SATYR-SHAPE 

in  his  coarsest  S. 

SAVIOUR 

the  Saviour's  feet 

SAT  (verb) 
'•  It    will     be     hard  " 

they  s. 
perfect  as  I  s. 
Might  I  not  J. 
Could  I  have  said 
thou  too  canst  j. 
Whatever  I  have  said 

SCALE 

Along  the  s.  of  ranks 

SCHOOL 

put  himself  to  s. 

SCIENCE 

5".  reaches  forth 
Let  5".  prove  we  are 
\Vhat  matters  5". 

SCOFF 

I  met  with  scoffs 

SCORN 

from  my  proper  s. 
I  met  with  scorns 
with  no  touch  of  s. 
my  s.  might  well 

SCYTHE 

The  sweep  of  s. 

SEA 

over  lonely  seas 
over  Indian  seas 
homeless  j. 
to-night  beside  the  s. 

SEAMEW 

Where  now  the  ^.  pipes 


SEASON 

2. 

2. 

seasons  bring  the  flow- 
er 

22. 

2. 

crovra'd  with  all  the  s 
lent 

3S. 

2. 

the  blowing  s. 

"3- 

I. 

served  the  seasons 

SEA-WATER 

19- 

2. 

The  salt  j. 

SECOND 

114. 

4- 

She  is  the  s. 

23.     s. 
97.     6. 


74-  3- 

93-  ■• 

97.  I. 

106.  3. 

55-  3- 

90.  I. 

Ep.  34- 

Pro.  4. 

97-  6- 


78. 

2. 

85. 

10. 

88. 

I. 

116. 

2. 

78. 

3- 

126. 

3- 

34- 

4- 

no. 

2. 

SECRET 

Her  s.  from   the  latest 

moon 
the  s.  of  the  Spring 
the  j^.  of  the  star 

SEE  {verb) 
I  5.  thee  what  thou  art 
more  than  I  can  j. 
what  I  s.  \  leave 
I  shall  not  i.  thee 
sees  himself  in  all  he 

sees 
here  we  s.  no  more 

SEED 

of  fifty  seeds 
This  bitter  s. 
is  but  s. 
SEEM  (z'erb) 
seemest  human 
He  seems  so  near 

SEINE 

fool-fur)^  of  the  .S". 

SELF 

Of  their  dead  selves 
In  her  deep  j. 

SENSE 

with  an  awful  s. 
blindfold  j.  of  wrong 
s.  of  something  lost 
the  s.  of  human  will 
where  the  senses  mix 
Crj'  thro'  the  s. 

SENTENCE 

I  hear  the  j. 

SENTINEL 

hear  at  times  a  s. 

SERPENT 

the  charming  s. 
Nor  cared  the  f. 


164 


Index. 


20.   2. 

59-     4- 
130.     I. 


19.  I. 

19.  2. 

46.  2. 

48.  2. 

66.  2. 

93.  2. 

Ep.  24. 

Ep.  26. 

Ep.  30. 


61.     3- 


103. 


SERVANT 

as  servants  in  a  house 

SERVE  {verb) 

We  served  thee  here 

SERVICE 

Another  5.  such  as  this 

SET  {verb) 
And  s.  thee  forth 

SETTING 

in  the  s.  thou  art  fair 

SEVERN 

Danube  to  the  6".  gave 
twice  a  day  the  ^.  fills 

SHADE 

there  no  s.  can  last 

slender  s.  of  doubt 

s.  by  which  my  life 

No  visual  s. 

A  s.  falls  on  us 

J.  of  passing  thought 

with  s.  the  bridal  doors 

SHADOW 

J.  of  a  lark 

s.  of  a  heaven 

6".  fear'd  of  man 

.y.  sits  and  waits  for  me 

6".  cloak'd 

^9.  waiting 

mute  6'.  watching  all 

tender-pencird  i.  play 

found  your  shadows 

His  own  vast  s. 

sadness  flings  Her  j. 

petty  shadovus  cast 

SHAKESPEARE 

The  soul  of  -S". 

SHALLOP 

where  a  little  s.  lay 


36.     4. 
72.     6. 


SHAME 
37.     3.     touch  of  j-. 
51.     2.     some  hidden  ^. 
72.     7.     hide  thy  s. 
109.     6.     My  j^.  is  greater 

SHAPE 

70.  2.  palled  sliapes 

95.  3.  filmy  shapes 

103.  4.  s.  of  him  I  loved 

1 18.  7.  To  s.  and  use 


SHEAF 

that  binds  the  s. 
the  ungarner'd  5. 

SHEEPWALK 

J.  up  the  windy  wold 


SHELF 

16. 

4- 

a  craggy  J. 

SHELL 

76. 

4- 

shells  of  hollow  towers 

SHIP 

g- 

I. 

Fair  j. 

03- 

10. 

A  great  j. 

SHOAL 

70.     3.     j/;(7a/i  of  pucker'd  faces 


16. 

3- 

the  J.  so  harshly  given 

85- 

14. 

diffused  the  s. 

95- 

It. 

the  shocks  of  chance 

II3- 

5- 

With  thousand  shocks 

118. 

6. 

the  shocks  of  doom 

131- 

I. 

shall  suffer  .f. 

SHORE 

9- 

from  the  Italian  s. 

19. 

by  the  pleasant  .r. 

35- 

that  forgetful  5. 

61. 

the  doubtful  s. 

70. 

on  boundless  shores 

83. 

upon  the  northern  s. 

84. 

10. 

To  the  other  s. 

85. 

21. 

from  the  quiet  .f. 

87. 

paced  the  shores 

103. 

vaster  grew  the  j. 

124. 

an  ever-breaking  s. 

Ep. 

30. 

all  the  happy  shores 

SHOT 

6. 

3- 

s.  ere  half  thy  draught 

SHOUT 

87. 

3- 

the  distant  f . 

SHOWER 

86. 

I. 

Sweet  after  shoivers 

SIDE 

51- 

,, 

near  us  at  our  i. 

52- 

2. 

move  me  from  thy  *. 

80. 

I. 

kindly  from  his  j. 

103. 

10. 

lift  her  shining  sides 

103. 

II. 

Up  the  s.  I  went 

114. 

S- 

moving  j.  by  j-. 

Ep. 

18. 

its  sunny  s. 

Index. 


165 


SIGH 

SKY 

35- 

4- 

answer  with  a  j. 

12. 

3- 

glow  of  southern  skies 

108. 

I. 

Nor  feed  with  sigJis 

IS- 

I. 

blown  about  the  skies 

119. 

3- 

with  scarce  a  s. 

17- 

2. 

the  bounding  s. 

SIGHT 

38- 

I. 

under  alter'd  skies 

66. 

2. 

him  whose  j^.  is  lost 

66. 
72. 

4- 
6. 

dreaming  of  the  f. 
J.  with  fl\-ing  boughs 

SIGNET 

95- 

I. 

o'er  the  s.  The  sUvery 

125. 

3. 

set  his  royal  .j. 

haze 

95- 

3- 

in  fragrant  skies 

SILENCE 

102. 

I. 

gazed  upon  the  s. 

i3- 

2. 

S.  till  I  be  silent  too 

■9- 

2. 

makes  a  5.  in  the  hills 

SLANDER 

SO- 

5- 

And  s.  followed 

106. 

6. 

The  civic  j. 

TS- 

5- 

shall  s.  guard  thy  fame 

SLEEP 

94- 
95- 

3- 
7- 

the  .y.  of  the  breast 
strangely  on  the  s. 

4- 

I. 

5- 
3. 

To  s.  I  give  my  powers 
silver  s. 

103. 

II. 

fell  in  J.  on  his  neck 

\i. 

wears  the  mask  of  s. 

Ep. 

22. 

tho'  in  s.  wishing  joy 

30. 

5- 

their  .j.  is  sweet 

SILVER 

43- 

I. 

If    5.   and    Death    be 

Ep. 

39- 

Their  sleeping  s. 

68. 

I. 

truly  one 
5.  Death's  twin  brother 

SIN 

68. 

4- 

That  foolish  .s.  transfers 

Pro. 

9- 

what  seem'd  my  s. 

7"- 

I. 

6".  kinsman  thou 

5- 

I. 

hold  it  half  a  j. 

48. 

3- 

holds  it  s.  and  shame 

SLOPE 

52. 

4- 

dash'd  with  flecks  of  s. 

22. 

3- 

fifth  autumnal  j. 

54- 

I. 

sins  of  will 

SLOTH 

SIN'.\I 

27- 

3- 

weeds  of  s. 

96. 

6. 

Sinai's  peaks  of  old 

SLU.MBER 

SING  {verb) 

99- 

5- 

the  s.  of  the  poles 

21. 

I. 

s.  to  him  that  rests 

21. 

6. 

s.  because  I  must 

SMILB 

30- 

6. 

Once  more  we  sang 

62. 

3- 

matter  for  a  flying  s. 

57- 

I. 

To  J.  so  wildly 

SMILE  {verb) 

103- 

3- 

sang  of  what  is  wise 

SIRE 

127. 

5- 

sniilest  knowing  all  is 
well 

90. 

5- 

the  yet-loved  s. 

SMOKE 

SISTER 

39- 
69. 

I. 
I. 

living  s. 

black  with  s.  and  frost 

29- 

4- 

sisters  of  a  day  gone  by 

33- 

2. 

Leave  thou  thy  s. 

SNARE 

95- 

8. 

thro'  wordy  snares 

SIT  {verb) 

23- 

I. 

alone  to  where  be  sits 

SNOW 

30- 

3- 

hand-in-hand  5"rt;  silent 

22. 

I. 

from  s.  to  s. 

32. 

I. 

and  there  he  sits 

78. 

I. 

The  silent  s. 

103. 

8. 

I  myself  who  sat  apart 

105. 

2. 

under  other  snows 

106. 

2. 

across  the  s. 

SKIRT 

IIS- 

I. 

last  long  streak  of  f. 

47- 

I. 

skirts  of  self 

64. 

2. 

skirts  of  happy  chance 

SOD 

10. 

4. 

beneath  the  clover  s. 

SKULL 

Pro. 

2. 

s.   which    Thou    hast 

SOIL 

made 

53- 

2. 

The  J.  left  barren 

1 66 


htdex. 


38. 

6s- 

4- 

6. 

18 
31 
77 
78, 
Ep 

Pro. 

6. 

8S- 

90. 


23 
30 

37 
38. 
38 
49 
52 
57 
75 
76. 
76, 
77 
83 
87 
95 

102 

105, 
107 

"5 
116, 
125 

f 

Ep, 


16 

I 

'9 

3 

21 

4 

23 

I 

28 

5 

39 

2. 

49 

4- 

SOLACE 

2.     doubtful  gleam  of  j. 

2.  in  that  j.  can  I  sing 

SOMETHING 

3-     '5'.  it  is  that  thou  hast 

lost 
5.     J.  written,  j.  thought 

1 .  'Tis  well  :  'tis  .s-. 

4.  or  .f.  seal'd  The  lips 

3.  changed  to  s.  else 

2.  sense  of  i-.  lost 

5.  To  J.  greater 

SON 

I.  Strong  .S".  of  God 

3-  thy  gallant  s. 

7.  the  sons  of  flesh 

5.  Yea  tho'  their  som 

SONG 

1.  breaking  into  s.  by  fits 

4.  A  merry  j.  we  sang 
4.     To  lull  with  s. 

2.  songs  I  love  to  sing 
3-  sotigs  I  sing  of  thee 
2.     slightest  air  of  j. 

2.  thy  plaintive  j. 

I.  the  i.  of  woe 

3-  the  breeze  of  j. 

3-  the  matin  songs 

4.  thy  songs  are  vain 

1.  on  i£?«^i  and  deeds 

4-  a  fresher  throat  with  j. 

5-  noise  Of  songs 

4-     we  sang  old  songs 
3-     f.  that  slights 

3-  its  matni  j. 

6.     Be  neither  i.  nor  game 
6.     songs  he  loved  to  hear 

2.  a  sightless  i. 

2.  songs,  the  stirring  air 

3.  i.  were  full  of  care 
3.     the  spirit  of  the  .r. 

4-  embalm  In  dying  songs 

5.  the  songs  I  made 
SOOTHE  (verb) 

».     influence-rich  to  j. 

SORROW 

0  i-.  cruel  fellowship 
s.  such  a  changeling  be 

1  brim  with  s. 
sorron.v's  barren  song 
sometimes  in  my  i.  shut 
J.  touch 'd  with  joy 
i".  fixt  upon  the  dead 
the  i.  deepens  down 


SORROW  {continued) 

59-  I-  O  6".  wilt  thou  live 

59-  2-  O  .S".  wilt  thou  rule 

78.  4.  O  s.,  then  can  j.  wane 

83.  4.  the  s.  in  my  blood 

85-  3-  Be  dimm'd  of  j. 

loS.  4.  J.  under  human  skies 

108.  4.  that  J.  makes  us  wise 

113-  I.  that  J.  makes  us  wise 

116.  4.  less  of  s.  lives  in  me 

SORT 

log.     5.  in  such  a  s. 

SOUL 

Pro.    7.  mind  and  j.  according 

5.     I.  conceal  the  6".  within 

32.     4.  souls      possess    them- 
selves 

43  •     3-  garden  of  the  souls 

43-     4-  the  dawning  s. 

47-     '-  the  general  .r. 

47.     2.  The  eternal  j. 

57-     3-  the  sweetest  s. 

60.     1.  a  5.  of  nobler  tone 

65.     1.  Sweet  J. 

70.     4.  thro'  a  lattice  on  the  s. 

Ti..     2.  such  credit  with  the  s. 

73-     4-  while  the  s.  exults 

84.  II.  takes  us  as  a  single  j. 

85.  9.     O  crown'd  s. 

95.  9.  His  living.?,  was flash'd 

99-  5-  count  as  kindred  souls 

no.  I.  The  feeble  s. 

112.  2.  careless  eye  On  JOK^ 

113.  3.  J.  on  highest  mission 
I3I-  3-  s.  in  i. 

Ep.  31.     J.  shall  draw  from   out 
the  vast 

SOUND 

28.  2.  between  me  and  the  s. 

31-  3-  fill'd  with  joyful  J. 

35-  3-  -f-  of  streams 

35-  4-  ■r-     of     tlmt     forgetful 

shore 

72.  7.  with  roaring  j. 

89.  5.  O  .r.  to  rout  the  brood 

SOURCE 

24.     I.     The  very  s. 

SPACE 

86.     2.     The  round  of  j. 
103.     7.     in  grander  i. 
126.     3.     the  worlds  of  s. 

SPAN 

117-     3-     every  i.  of  shade 


Index. 


167 


37- 
116. 


96. 


23.  4. 
85.  21. 
95.   12. 


9.     2. 

83.     3- 


60.     2. 
122.     2. 


83.     3. 
127.    3. 


38- 
40. 

41- 
42. 
43- 

47- 
52- 

52- 

56. 
60. 
61. 
82. 


SPEAK  {verb") 
I  can  s.  a  little  then 
harshly  will  he  j. 
not  worthy  ev'n  to  s. 
Still  s.  to  me  of  me 

SPECTRE 

spectres  of  the  mind 

SPEECH 

wed  itself  with  i". 
dear  words  of  human  j. 
matter-moulded    forms 
of  s. 

SPEED 

a  favorable  s. 

SPEEDWELL 

speedweWs  darling  blue 

SPHERE 

his  proper  j. 
A  i.  of  stars 

SPICE 

With  summer  j. 

SPIKENARD 

With  costly  i-. 

SPIRE 

bring  the  foxglove  s. 
the  spires  of  ice 

SPIRIT 

A  3". ,  not  a  breathing 

voice 
I  in  s.  saw  thee  move 
the  vital  spirits 
my  troubled  s. 
spirits  reuder'd  free 
Spirits  breathed  away 
s.  ere  our  fatal  loss 
the  spirit's  inner  deep 
spirit's  folded  bloom 
the  spirits  fade  away 
The  5".  of  true  love 
keeps  a  j.  wholly  true 
J.  does  but  mean 
My  s.  loved  and  loves 
I  loved  thee,  >?. 
the  s.  walks 
Thy  s.  should  fail 
Thy  J.  up  to  mine 
A  hundred  spirits 
employ  Thy  spirits 
I    know  Thy  j. 
No   J.  ever   brake 
he,  the  5'.  himself 


SPIRIT  {continued) 

93- 

2. 

S.    to    S.,    Ghost    to 
Ghost 

94- 

2. 

call  The  spirits 

94. 

2. 

s.  is  at  peace  with  all 

97- 

2. 

of  my  J.  as  of  a  wife 

102. 

2. 

spirits  of  a  diverse  love 

105. 

5- 

the  J.  breathes 

123- 

3- 

in  my  j.  will  I  dwell 

125. 

3- 

the  J.  of  the  song 

127. 

5- 

While  thou  dear  s. 

Ep. 

20. 

all  ray  genial  spirits 

SPLENDOR 

98. 

2. 

all  her  s.  seems 

Ep. 

30. 

let  the  s.  faU 

SPORT 

89. 

3- 

our  simple  sports 

9S. 

7- 

loud  With  s.  and  song 

Ep. 

6. 

the  J.  of  random  sun 

SPOT 

8.     3.     every  pleasant  j. 
SPRING  (season) 
23.     5.     the  secret  of  the  5'. 
69.     I.     would  be  5'.  no  more 
85.   18.     5'.  that  swells 
85.  30.     not  unlike  to  that  of  S. 
SPRING  {/ountaiii) 
3.     Lethean  springs 
6.     beside  its  vocal  springs 
I.     the  in\-iolate  j. 


44. 
64. 
90. 

69. 
115. 

16. 

82. 

105. 

3- 
17- 


24- 

4- 

46. 

4- 

64. 

2. 

72- 

6. 

86. 

4- 

89. 

12. 

97- 

6. 

lOI. 

3- 

'03- 

9- 

SQU.\RE 

in  the  public  squares 
.     the  flowering  squares 
STAGGER  {z'erd) 
And  staggers  blindly 

STALK 

.     the  shatter'd  stalks 

STAND  {,7ierb) 
.     ungather'd  shall  it  i^. 

STAR 

:.   stars,   she   whispers 
..     bosom  of  the  stars 

orb  into  the  perfect  j. 

a  brooding  j. 

grapples  with  his  evil  s. 

drench  the  morning  j. 

yonder  orient  s. 

the  crimson-circled  s. 

secret  of  the  s. 

the  polar  j. 

the  shaping  of  a  s. 


1 68 


Index. 


STAR  (continued) 
130.     2.     in  s.  and  flower 
Ep.     8.     brighten  like  the  j. 
Ep.  31.     J.  and  system 

STATE  (condition) 

14.  4.     sorrow  o'er  my  j. 

24.  3.  lownessof  the  present  J-. 

64.  I.  second  s.  sublime 

82.  2.  From  s.  to  s. 

85.  6.  above  our  mortal  j. 

STATE  (kingdotn) 

64.  3.  mighty  state's  decrees 

89.  g.  changes  of  the  s. 

STATUE 

103.     3.     stood  A  J.  veil'd 
Ep.    4.     like  a  s.  solid-set 
STAY  (verb) 
12.     2.     I  cannot  J. 
120.     2.     I  would  not  s. 

STEAM 

89.     2.     J.  of  town 

STEP 

38.  I.     With  weary  steps 
95.   II.     the  i/^/.s  of  time 

STEPPING-STONES 

1.  I.     men  may  rise  on  s. 

STERN  (adj.) 
1 10.    3.     The  J.  were  mild 

STILE 

100.     2.     simple  J.  from  mead 

STILLNESS 

85.  20.     A  part  of  i. 
123.     I.     J.  of  the  central  sea 

STONE 

2.  I.     graspest  at  the  stones 

39.  I.     graspest  at  the  stones 
56.     I.     quarried  j-. 

loS.     I.     lest  I  stiffen  into  s. 

STORE 

81.     2.     hope  of  richer  s. 
Ep.  21.     J.  of  happy  days 

STORM 

72.     I.     lash  with  .y. 
87.     2.     .s.    their    high-built   or- 
gans 
127.     I.    Well  roars  the  s. 

STRAIN 

15.  3.     could  brook  the  .r. 


STRAIT 

84. 

ID. 

the  dolorous  j. 

STRANGER 

lOI. 

104. 
105. 

5- 
3. 
I. 

the  stranger's  child 
like  strangers'  voices 
the  stranger's  land 
STREAK 

115. 

I. 

last  long  .f.  of  snow 

STREAM 

36. 

89. 

3- 

sound  of  streams 
the  .s.  beneath  us  ran 

115. 

3- 

On  winding  j. 

STREAMLET 

79- 

3- 

the  same  cold  s. 

STREET 

7- 
7- 

31. 

69. 
123. 

3- 
3- 
I. 
I. 

long  unlovely  s. 
on  the  bald  j. 
streets  \Aere  fill'd 
streets  were  black 
where  the  long  .r.  roars 

STRIFE 

50. 
85. 
106. 

4- 
14. 
4- 

term  of  human  j. 
to  handle  spiritual  s. 
forms  of  party  .r. 

STRING 

87. 
8S. 

7- 
3- 

slackly  from  the  j. 
command  the  strings 
STRIVE  (veri) 

96. 
113- 

2. 
2. 

stroz'e  to  make  it  true 
To  s. ,  to  fashion 

39-  I- 

73-  I. 

128.  5. 

95.  8. 

85.  15. 


17.     4. 
85.   iS. 


95.  I. 
05.  7. 
Ep.     5- 


STROKE 

my  random  s. 
STRONG  (adj.) 
s.  as  thou  wert  true 

STUDENT 

the  s.  at  his  desk 

SUGGESTION 

.5".  to  her  inmost  cell 

SUIT 

can  it  i.  me  to  forget 

SUMMER 

balmy  drops  in  j.  dark 

S.  on  the  steaming 
floods 

sninmer's  hourly-mel- 
lowing change 

silvery  haze  of  s. 

the  J.  in  the  seed 

Sinnmers^zX  are  flown 


Index. 


169 


SUMMIT 

103.     2.     From  hidden  sujnmiis 

SUMMONS 

103.     4.     a  J.  from  the  sea 

SUN 

2.  3.     branding  summer  suns 

3.  2.     the  dying  s. 

24.  2.  first  S.  arose  and  set 

72.  2.  the  splendor  of  the  s. 

75.  4.  breathe  beneath  the  j. 

84.  7.  J.  by  J.  the  happy  days 

117.  3.  the  courses  of  the  i^. 

121.  I.  the  buried  s. 

130.  I.  the  rising  s. 

Ep.  6.  random  s.  and  shade 

Ep.  20.  greet  a  whiter  s. 

SUNBEAM 

15.     2.     s.  strikes  along 

91.     4.     where  the  j.  broodeth 

SUNDOWN 

41.     5.     ^.  skirts  the  moor 

SUNFLOWER 

loi.     2.     Unloved  the  j.  shining 

SUNSHINE 

10.     4.     the  s.  and  the  rains 

SURFACE 

49.     2.     sullen  s.  crisp 

SWALIXIW-FLIGKTS 

48.     4.     short  J.  of  song 

SWEETNESS 

change  my  s. 
secret  ^.  in  the  stream 
s.  from  its  proper  place 
Not  mine  the  s. 

SWEEP 

J.  of  scythe 
SWEEP  [verb) 
But  sn.veeps  away 

SWORD 

4.     sheathe  a  useless  s. 

SYCAMORE 

I.     towering  i. 
14.     large  leaves  of  the  s. 


35- 
64. 

83. 
no. 


Sg. 
Ep. 
12S. 


Ep. 


SYMBOL 

grief  with  symbols  play 
Xlute  symbols 


SYMPATHY 

l°- 

6. 

their  mortal  s. 

63. 

2. 

I  spare  them  j. 

8s- 

22. 

painless  j.  with  pain 

SYSTEM 

Pro. 

S- 

Our  little  systetns 
T. 

TABLET 

67. 

4- 

t.  glimmers 

Ep. 

13- 

Their  pensive  tablets 

TABLE-TALK 

84. 

6. 

genial  t. 

TACT 

no. 

4- 

The  graceful  t. 

TAINT 

54- 

I. 

taints  of  blood 

TALE 

12. 

I. 

a  ^.  of  woe 

TALK 

109. 

I. 

discursive  t. 
TALK  {verb) 

71- 

3. 

we  /.  as  once  we  talk'd 

90. 

3- 

To  /.  them  o'er 

107. 

5- 

t.  and  treat  Of  all 

Ep. 

23. 

t.  of  others 

TANGLE 

10. 

5- 

toss  with  t. 

TEAM 

12t. 

2. 

/.  is  loosen'd 

121. 

4- 

moving  of  the  t. 

TEAR 

I. 

2. 

far-off  interest  of  tears 

13- 

1. 

Tears  of  the  widower 

ig- 

3- 

When  fill'd  with  tears 

20. 

3- 

tears  that  at  their  foun- 
tain freeze 

40. 

3- 

tears  are  on  the   moth- 
er's face 

S8. 

3- 

a  fruitless  t. 

72. 

3- 

With  thy  quick  tears 

78. 

4- 

No  single  t. 

78- 

5- 

Her  tears  are  dry 

90. 

3- 

a  kindly  ^. 
TELL  {verb) 

3'- 

2. 

telling  what  it  is  to  die 

40. 
'7- 

7- 
4- 

t.  them  all 

TEMPEST 

t.  mars  Mid-ocean 

I/O 


Index. 


single 


85.   12. 

SO-     4- 
89.     9. 


103.     8. 


TENANT 

tenants    of 
breast 

TENDERNESS 

All-comprehensive  t. 

TERM 

/.  of  human  strife 

THEME 

glanced  from  t.  to  t. 

THEW 

the  tlie^us  of  Anakim 


THICKET 

6.     all  tl>e  /.  rang 


Pro.  6. 

I.  I. 

3-  4- 

7.  2. 

13-  4- 


34- 
35- 
37- 
40. 
44. 
45- 
52- 
60. 
73- 
78. 
?S- 
85. 
97- 

107. 

III. 

120. 

121. 

123. 

Pro. 


45-  I- 
100.  5. 
Ep.  34. 


46.     I. 
69.     2. 


THING 

things  we  see 
higher  things 
a  t.  so  blind 
like  a  guilty  t. 
strange  do  these  things 

seem 
ask  a  thousand  things 
ye  speak  an  idle  t. 
things  all  mortal 
so  sweet  a  t. 
things  divine 
new  things 
earthly  things 
the  things  I  touch 
the  t.  beloved 
a  /.  so  low 
such  things  to  be 
over  all  things 
all  things  round  me 
these  things  pass 
a  thousand  things 
treat  Of  all  things 
seem'd  the  t.  he  was 
born  to  other  things 
watchest  all  things 
think  the  t.  farewell 
THINK  {verb) 
thinks      he     was     not 

made 
thought  that "  this  is  I  " 
1 1.  once  more  he  seems 
all     we     thmight    and 

loved 

THORN 

i.  and  flower 

I  took  the  ihortis 

THOROUGHFARE 

shadowT  HwrougJifares 


40. 

126. 


85.  8. 

90.  6. 

94.  I. 

119.  3. 


122. 
122. 


THOUGHT 

with   the   t.   her   color 

burns 
An  awful  t. 
T.   leapt    out    to  wed 

with  T. 
Ere  T.  could  wed  itself 
Nor  other  t. 
All  subtle  /. 
all  pcetic  t. 
lightest  wave  of  t. 
topmost  froth  of  t. 
a  happy  /. 
fix  my  thoughts 
thoughts     were      little 

worth 
6.     one  lonely  t. 

1.  whose  t.  would  hold 

3.  in     my  thoughts    with 
scarce  a  sigh 

4.  thoughts  of  life 

5.  /.  breaks  out  a  rose 

THREAD 

4.     he  plays  with  threads 

THRESHOLD 

4.     /.  of  the  mind 

2.  t.  of  the  night 

THROAT 

4.     flood  a  fresher  t. 

THRONE 

4.     thrones  of  civil  power 

3.  whisper  of  the  t. 

THRUSH 

1.  the  mounted  t. 

THUNDER-MUSIC 

2.  And  t.  rolling 

TIDE 

4.  The  t.  flows  down 

6.  double  tides  of  chariots 
10.     forward-creeping  tides 

4.     vassal  tides 

TIDINGS 

6.  t.  of  the  bride 
1.     t.  of  my  friend 

TIGER 

7.  let  the  ape  and  t.  die 

TIME 

4.  Come  T.,  and  teach 

5.  A  /.  to  sicken 

5.     that  T.  could  bring 


Index. 


28. 

I. 

2g. 

43- 

44- 

2. 

50. 

2. 

52- 

4- 

59- 

3- 

72. 

5- 

84. 

ro. 

8s. 

7- 

85- 

17- 

85. 

29. 

104. 

I. 

lOS- 

2. 

105. 

3- 

107. 

z. 

113. 

4- 

Ep. 

6. 

Ep. 

23- 

Ep. 

35- 

TIME  {continved) 
The  ^.  draws  near 
Before  their  t. 
he  loved  me  here  in  T. 
Gives  out  at  times 
t.  a  maniac 

When  /.  hath  sunder'd 
leave  at  times  to  play 
struck  down  thro'  /. 
What  t.  mine  own 
the  cycled  times 
Which  masters  T. 
seeks  to  beat  in  t. 
The  t.  draws  near 
There  in  due  /. 
like  growth  of  /. 
t.  admits  not  flowers 
when  the  t.  has  birth 
out  of  weaker  times 
the  t.  draws  on 
ere  the  times  were  ripe 

TIPS 

3.     kindled  at  the  tips 

TITAN 


96. 

112. 


26. 
128. 

Ep. 

69. 

87. 


98. 

Ep. 
43- 


102. 

41. 

6. 

8. 

6. 
6. 

pulses    of     a     Tiiaii's 
heart 

TO-BE 

all  the  secular  T. 

TO-DAY 

thinking,  here  t. 

25- 

46. 

22. 

46. 
77- 

33- 
128. 

I. 

6. 

TOIL 

after  t.  and  storm 
t.  cooperant 

112. 
118. 

78. 

4- 

TOKEN 

t.  of  distress 

84. 

8. 

6. 

TOMB 

plant  it  on  his  t. 

42. 

95- 

6. 

6. 

TO-MORROW 

here  t.  will  he  come 

85. 

r. 

44- 

r. 

2. 

TONE 

in  divers  tones 
t.  and  tint 

21. 

26. 
no. 

I. 
2. 

TO.VGUE 

fickle  tongues 
his  double  t. 

2. 

26. 

95- 

6. 

9- 

TO-NIGHT 

he  will  see  them  on  t. 

9S- 

36. 

4- 

TOOTH 

red  in  t.  and  claw 

Ep. 

171 

TOUCH 

S-     no  i.  of  change 

2.  take  The  t.  of  change 

3-  /•  of  earthly  things 

4-  If  such  a  dreamy  /. 

1.  with  no/,  of  scorn 

3.  forever  at  a  t. 

TOWER 

3.     lessening  towers 

2.  dash'd  on  t.  and  tree 
2.     towers  fall'n 

5.  a  feudal  /. 
27.     Dumb  is  that  ^ 

TOWN 

2.  the  noisy  /. 

1.  at  random  thro'  the  t. 

2.  din  and  steam  of  /. 
10.  if  I  praise  the  busy  t. 

6.  any  mother  ;■. 
:8.  the  silent-lighted  t. 

TRACE 

2.  traces  of  the  past 

TR.^CK 

I.    t.  Whereon  with  equal 

feet 
I.     down  this  lower  t. 

TRACT 

I.  tracts  that  pleased  us 

3.  lifelong  t.  of  time 
I.  in  the  t.  of  time 

4.  tracts  of  calm 

3.     tracts  of  fluent  heat 

TRAIN 

8.     t.  of  bounteous  hours 

TRANCE 

I.     some  long  t. 
II.     my  t.  Was  cancell'd 

TRANSFER  {verb) 
26.     t.  The  whole  I  felt 

TRAVELLER 

The  t.  hears  me 

TREE 

gazing  on  thee,  sullen  t. 

the  moulder "d  t. 

trees   Laid   their   dark 

arms 
trees  Laid  their    dark 

arms 
where  grew  the  t. 
on  the  trees  The   dead 

leaf 


1/2 


Index. 


_  TRIFLE 

TURN  {verb) 

66. 

I. 

with  any  t.  pleased 

41. 

68. 

2. 

turtt^d  to  something 

6g. 

I. 

chatter'd  trifles 

3- 

I  /.  about 

trti:mph 

TWILIGHT 

no. 

4- 

felt  thy  t.  was  as  mine 

50. 

4- 

t.  of  eternal  day 

79. 

3. 

that  roam  the  t. 

TROTH 

TWINKLE  {verb) 
twinkled  into  green 

27- 

3- 

that  never  plighted  t. 

II. 

2. 

TROUBLE 

TYPE 

4- 

4- 

clouds  of  nameless  /. 

33- 

4- 

for  want  of  such  a  i. 

41- 

5- 

An  inner  t. 

55- 

2. 

So  careful  of  the  t. 

68. 

3- 

i.  in  thine  eye 

56. 

I. 

So  careful  of  the  i. 

68. 

4- 

t.  of  my  youth 

56. 

I. 

thousand  i?j'/Sfj  are  gone 

83- 

2. 

t.  live  with  April  days 

TRUE 

e'p. 

35- 

a  noble  t. 
U. 

56. 

S- 

battled  for  the  t. 

Ep. 

I. 

0  /.  and  tried 

UNCLE 

84. 

4- 

babbled"  U.'' 

TRUMPET 

96. 

6. 

t.  blew  so  loud 

UNDERSTAND 

97- 

9. 

I  cannot  71.  ;  I  love 

TRUST 

85. 
116. 

3- 
2. 

t.  in  things  above 
to  hearten  t. 

TRUST  (:i<erV) 

42. 

I. 

UNITY 

It  was  but  71.  of  place 

VNLIKENESS 

Pro. 

6. 

t.  it  conies  from  thee 

79- 

S- 

As  his  71.  fitted  mine 

Pro. 

10. 

I  /.  he  lives  in  thee 

UNREST 

15. 

4. 

wild  7t.  that  lives 

TRUTH 

Pro. 

II. 

where  thev  fail  in  t. 

UR.^NIA 

I. 

I. 

I  held  it  t. 

37- 

I. 

U.  speaks 

18. 

2. 

it  looks,  in  t. 

URN 

33- 

3- 

a  t.  divine 

9. 

2. 

his  holy  7i. 

36. 

I. 

truths  in  manhood 

95- 

2. 

the  fluttering  11. 

36. 

2. 

i.  in  closest  words 

36. 

2. 

t.  embodied  in  a  tale 

USE 

42- 

3- 

reaps  A  t. 

5- 

2. 

«.   in      measured    lan- 

53- 

3- 

preach  it  as  a  i. 

guage 

68. 

4- 

I  discern  the  t. 

45- 

2. 

71.  of  "  I  "  and  "  me  " 

85- 

I. 

This  t.  came  borne 

45- 

4- 

this  71.  may  lie  in  blood 

125. 

2. 

so  fix'd  in  t. 

78. 

S- 

with  long  7<.  her  tears 

127. 

2. 

social  t. 

are  dr\' 

131. 

3. 

truths   that  never  can 

105. 

3- 

bond  of  dyin^  71. 

be  proved 

III. 

6. 

soil'd  with  all  ignoble  u. 

TULIP 

V. 

83. 

3- 

deep  tulips 

VAPOR 

TUMULT 

107. 

I. 

bank  Of  v. 

75- 

S- 

t.  of  acclaim 

Ep. 

28. 

the  shining  v.  sail 

87. 

I. 

/.  of  the  halls 

VASE 

127. 

5- 

O'erlook'st  the  t. 

TUNE 

4- 

3- 

deep  V.  of  chilling  tears 

VASSAL 

97- 

3- 

have  beat  in  i. 

48. 

2. 

makes  it  v.  unto  love 

Index. 


173 


76-     3- 
97.     2. 

72.     7. 


30.  7- 

56.  7. 

67.  4. 

Sg.  13. 


85.     5- 
98.     3- 


33.     2. 

75-     5- 
92-     3- 


95.  8. 

SI.  1. 

60.  3. 

18.  I. 

97-  7- 

105.  2. 

115.  I. 

"5-  S- 


82.     3- 
85.     4. 


VAST  (iZi^'. ) 

shall  wither  in  the  v. 

VASTNESS 

In  z'.  and  in  mystery 

VAULT 

up  thy  V.   with   roaring 
sound 

VEIL 

from  V.  to  V. 
Behind  the  v. 
V.  from  coast  to  coast 
the  woodbine  v. 

VERGE 

low  dark  v.  of  life 

VERSE 

V.    that   brings    myself 
relief 

VICE 

like  a  v.  of  blood 

VIENNA 

in  Viouia's  fatal  walls 
I  will  not  see  V. 

VIEW 

her  happy  views 
out  of  human  v. 
and  bared  to  z/.,  A  fact 

VIGOR 

z/.  bold  to  dwell 

VILENESS 

inner  v.  that  we  dread 

VILLAGE 

little  V.  looks   forlorn 

VIOLET 

V.  of  his  native  land 
A  wither 'd  v. 
The  V.  comes 
the  violets  blow 
Becomes  an  April  v. 

VIRTUE 

use  of  V.  out  of  earth 
Your  words  have  v. 


If  any  v.  should  reveal 
dream'd  a  v.   of     the 
dead 


VOICE 

voices  of  foui-  hamlets 
Each  11.  four  changes 
our  voices  rang 
voices    took    a   higher 

range 
V.  that  man  could  trust 
many  an  abler  v. 
V.  to  soothe  and  bless 
The  V.  was  low 
V.    was   not   the   v.    of 

grief 
V.  the  richest-toned 
voices  of  the  birds 
strangers'  voices 
V.  I  once  have  known 
voices  hail  it 
I  heard   a.  v.  "  believe 

no  more  " 
I',  across  the  storm 
V.  is  on  the  rolling  air 
circled  with  thy  v. 
A  V.  as  unto  him   that 

hears 


VOID 

13.     2.     Plv.  where  heart    on 

heart  reposed 
54.     2.     cast  as  rubbish  to  the  v. 

vow 

20.     I.     thousand  tender  7'ows 
79.     4.     we  proffer'd  vo^vs 
97.     8.     plighted  vows 

W. 

WAIN 

loi.     3.     the  lesser  w. 

WALK 

8.     4.     those  deserted  walks 
84.     6.     the  flowery  iu. 
87.     4.     that  long  w.  of  limes 

WALK  {verb) 
68.     2.     I  w.  as  ere  I  walk'd 

71.  3.     walking  as   of  old  we 

•walk'd 

WALL 

19.  4.  its  wooded  walls 

87.  I.  the  reverend  wa/Zj 

Ep.  16.  The  blind  w.  rocks 

Ep.  30.  the  roof,  the  w. 

WAN 

72.  5.     As  w.,  as  chill 


174 


Index. 


103.   9. 
106.   7. 


46.  4. 

84.  2. 

95.  I. 

124.  4. 

105-  s- 

22.  s. 

91.  4. 

63-  3- 

74.  I. 


11. 

5- 

19. 

I. 

19. 

4- 

49- 

2. 

89. 

12. 

22. 

3- 

26. 

49- 
60. 
77- 


WANDER  {verb) 
4.     other  wandering  there 
2.     I  w.,  often  falling  lame 
2.    hither  •aia«^fr/«^  down 

WANT 

for  w.  of  such  a  type 
supplied  my  w . 
a  thousand  luants 
Ring  out  the  w. 
His  TO.  in  forms 

WAR 

sing  the  death  of  w. 
thousand  tuars  of  old 

WARDER 

Old  w.  of  these  buried 
bones 

WARMTH 

A  rosy  w. 

A  central  w. 

genial  uk 

IV.  within  the  breast 

WASSAIL 

nor  bowl  of  w.  mantle 

WASTE 

somewhere  in  the  w. 

WATCH 

in  watches  of  the  night 
WATCH  {verb) 
may'st  thou  iv.  me 
To  those  that  lu.  it 

WATER 

the  "waters  curl'd 
■waters  day  and  night 
drop  by  drop  the  w. 
broad  w.  of  the  west 
where  the  -waters  run 

WAVE 

waves  that  sway 
hearing  of  the  w. 
the  w.  again  Is  vocal 
lightest  w.  of  thought 
within  the  glooming  w. 
a  fuller  w. 

WAV 

met  him  on  his  w. 
cheer'd  the  w. 
winds  the  dreary  w. 
go  thy  w. 

the  household  ways 
My  darken'd  ways 


ss- 

II 

03- 

5- 

21. 

2 

85- 

13 

10. 

9 

52- 


WAV  {continuect) 
whatever  w.    my  dayi 

decline 
but  lead  the  w. 

WEAKNESS 

would  make  w.  weak 
works  of  w. 
forgot  his  w. 

WEALTH 

thy  w.  is  gather'd  in 
.  .      _      my  w.  resembles  thine 
Ep.  26.     w.  Of  words  and  wit 

WEB 

3.     2.     iv.  is  wov'n  across 

WEED 

27.     3.     the  weeds  of  sloth 
73.     3.     dim,  with  weeds 

WEEK 

17.     2.     IV.   after  TO.  the  days 
go  by 

80.  3.     burthen  of  the  weeks 

WEEP  {verb) 
119.     I.     not  as  one  that  TOi'^/j 

WEIGHT 

12.     2.  a  TO.  of  nerves 

25.     2.  I  loved  the  to. 

55.     4.  my  TO,  of  cares 

63.  I.  no  TO.  upon  my  heart 
Ep.   10.  that  TO.  Of  learning 

WELCOME 

85.     6.     gave  him  to.  there 

90.  2.     An  iron  to. 

WELL 

10.     5.     roaring  wells 
108.     2.     wells  of  death 

WEST 

15.     5.     dreary  TO. 

WHEAT 

91.  3.     waves  of  to. 
98.     I.     belts  of  TO. 

WHEEL 

50.     I.     wheels  of  Being 
117.     3.     kiss  of  toothed  TO/j^£'/.r 

WHISPER 

17.     I.     TO.  of  an  air 

64.  3.     w.  of  the  throne 

79.     3.     whispers  of  the  beau- 
teous world 

81.  2.     This  haunting  -w. 

85.  23.     lightly  does  the  to.  fall 


Index. 


175 


47- 
55- 


59-  I- 
Ep.  7. 
Ep.  13. 

Pro.  4. 

4.  I. 

4.  4. 

4'-  3- 

54.  I. 

70.  4. 

85.  10. 

110.  5. 

13'-  I- 


Ep.   14. 
Ep.  14. 


9.  4. 

15.  I. 

28.  3- 

30.  3- 

49-  3- 

78.  2. 

79-  3- 

81.  19. 

92.  2. 

103.  14. 

108.  I. 


37-  S- 
90.  3. 
107.     4. 


WHOLK 

seems  a  separate  w. 
living  w. 

WIDOWER 

tears  of  the  -du. 

WIFE 

but  a  iu. 

made  a  if.  ere  noon 

waiting  to  be  made  a  w. 

WILL 

Our  'cuilh  are  ours 
my  -w.  is  bondsman 
wakes  the  iv. 
wing  my  w.  with  might 
sins  of  TV. 
beyond  the  iv. 
sense  of  human  vj. 
imitative  ■zw. 

0  living  vj. 

WILLOW 

Among  the  %vill(rws 
"wilt  thou  " 
The  "  ■Zf ."  answer'd 
The  "1*/."  ask'd 

WIND 

Sleep  gentle  winds 
ivbids  begin  to  rise 
changes  on  the  iv. 
•winds    were      in 

beech 
blame     not     thou 

-winds 
No  wing  of  w. 
•winds  that  roam 
every  pulse  of  "W. 

1  hear  a  "w. 

w.  began  to  sweep 
a  passing  tv. 

WIND  {verb) 

mine  in  his  was  wound 

WINE 

sacred  w. 

when  warm  with  w. 

fetch  the  w. 

WINE-FLASK 

M».    lying    couch'd     in 
moss 

WING 

Spread  thy  full  ivings 
time  to  rise  on  w. 
Their  wings  in  tears 


the 
the 


65- 
76. 
76. 
78. 
128. 


39- 

54- 
78. 

Pro. 
36. 

5 

108, 
109. 
112 
"3 
H4 
114 

61 
74 

6 
55 

go. 
93 


41.     6. 


WING  {continued) 
2.     lightsome  w. 

1.  witigs  of  fancy 

2.  wings  of  foresight 

2.  no  TO.  of  wind 

1.  stronger  ivings 

WINTER 

8.     growing  -winters 
4.     every  w. 

3.  -winters  left  behind 

WISDOM 

II.     in  Thy  w,  make   me 
wise 

2.  IV.  dealt  with  mortal 

powers 

3.  There  must  be  10. 

4.  Whatever  -w.  sleep 
6.  Nor  let  thy  w.  make 
I.  High  -w.  holds  my  -w. 
I.  how  much  -w.  sleeps 

5.  side  by  side  With  -w. 

6.  W.  heavenly 

WISE 

1.  circle  of  the  w. 

2.  likeness  to  the  w. 

WISH 

6.     on  his  way  With  -wishes 

1.  -w.    that   of  the   living 

whole 
6.     cries  against  my  w. 
4.     -w.  too  strong  for  words 

WISH  (verb) 
4.     -wished    no     more     to 
wake 

WISP 

2.  7u.     that     gleams     On 

Lethe 

WITCH-ELM 

I.      IV itch-elms  that  coun- 
terchange 

WOE 

muffled  round  with   -w. 
imaginative  lu. 
would  prelude  w. 
attributes  of  w. 
in  TO.  and  weal 

WOLD 

this  high  TO. 
windy  to. 

WONDER 

-ivonders      that      have 
come 


176 


Index. 


WOOD 

WORK  (wri5) 

27. 

I. 

summer  woods 

'3' 

2. 

one  that  with  us  works 

35- 

6. 

batten'd  in  the  woods 

69. 
85- 

2. 
18. 

w.  \yith  thorny  boughs 
waning  woods 

Pre 

.    8. 

WORLD 

Help  Thy  vain  worlds 

86. 

2. 

dewy-tassell'd  w. 

'5 

2. 

strikes  along  the  to. 

8g. 

8. 

distant  woods 

21 

S- 

To  feel  from  to.  to  to. 

'Os- 

7- 

by  yonder  w. 

33 

4. 

fail  not  in  a  to.  of  sin 

lo;. 

3- 

w.  which  grides 

43 

3- 

total  TO.  since  life  began 

Ep. 

24. 

To  range  the  woods 

55 

4- 

world's  altar-stairs 

62 

3- 

breathes  a  novel  to. 

WOODBINE 

64 

4- 

a  world's  desire 

105. 

2. 

the  w.  blows 

73 

I. 

So  many  worlds 

WOODLAND 

75 

4- 

TO.  which  credits 

99- 
US- 

2. 
2. 

woodlands  holy 
Now  rings  the  w. 

79 
95 
105 

3- 
10. 
7- 

the  beauteous  to. 
pulsations  of  the  to. 
Of  rising  worlds 

WONT 

114 

7- 

I  would  the  great  to. 

29. 

3- 

Use  and  PF. 

116 

2. 

made  the  to.  so  fair 

WORD 

121 

3- 

the  world'' s  great  work 

36- 

3- 

the  IF.  had  breath 

124 
126 

2. 
3- 

found  Him  not  in  to. 
the  worlds  of  space 

WORD 

129 

3- 

mingle  all  the  w. 

5- 

I. 

to  put  in  words 

WORM 

5. 

I. 

words  like  Nature 

not  a  TO.  is  cloven 

5- 

3- 

in  words  like  weeds 

54. 

3- 

16. 

I. 

What  words  are  these 

WORTH 

18. 

S- 

words    that     are     not 

Pro 

9- 

What  seem'd  my  to. 

heard 

82. 

3. 

tran.splanted  human  w. 

20. 

3- 

out  of  words  a  comfort 

95- 

7. 

To  test  his  to. 

48. 

3- 

she  sports  with  words 

52. 

I. 

My  words    are     only 

W*RAITH 

words 

73- 

4- 

0  hollow  TO. 

58. 

I. 

In  those  sad  words 

WRATH 

69. 

75- 

S- 
2. 

The  words  were  hard 
fitting  aptest  words 

?2. 

124. 

4- 
4. 

TO.  that  garners 
a  man  in  to. 

85. 

2. 

0  true  in  «/. 

85. 

4- 

Your  words  have  virtue 

WREATH 

85. 

21. 

words        of        human 

29. 

3- 

Make  one  w.  more 

speech 

73- 

2. 

miss'd  an  earthly  w. 

93- 

4- 

too  strong  for  words 

WRONG 

95- 
95- 

7- 

9. 

silent-speaking  words 
So  7£».  by  TO. 

57- 

I. 

we  do  him  to. 

95- 

12. 

Vague  words 

71- 

2. 

sense  of  to. 

123. 

3- 

•words  were  sweet 

103. 

12. 

I  did  them  to. 

128. 

4- 

the  bearing  of  a  w. 

WYE 

Ep. 

13- 

living  words  of  life 

19. 

2. 

the  babbling  IV. 

WORKING 

i9- 

3- 

The  U'.  is  hush'd 

35- 

5- 

in  narrowest  to.  shut 

WORK 

Y. 

57- 

2. 

my  TO.  shall  fail 

85- 

13- 

to  works  of  weakness 

YEAR 

114. 

I. 

Let  her  IV.  prevail 

I. 

2. 

SO  forecast  the  years 

117. 

I. 

your  TO.  is  this 

2. 

3- 

years  of  gloom 

118. 

I. 

this  TO.  of  Time 

13- 

4- 

teach  me  many  years 

118. 

4- 

type  this  to.  of  time 

22. 

I. 

four  ^\i&t\  years 

Index. 


177 


28. 

4 

30- 

4 

44- 

46. 

3- 
3 

52- 

3 

59- 
67. 
81. 

4 

2 
2 

9i- 

2 

92. 
95- 

3- 
6 

97- 
106. 

7- 

I 

106. 

2. 

106. 

7 

109. 

3 

no. 

I. 

114. 
116. 

7- 
I. 

131- 
Ep. 

2. 
3- 

YEAR  {continued) 
This^'.  I  slept 
sang  with  him  Last;)', 
long  harmonious  _)'^a?-j 
and  those  fws  years 
not  the  sinless  years 
hope  ior  years  to  come 
number  of  l\\y  years 
'i^lort years  had  made 
unaccomplish  'd  years 
within  the  coming  >». 
y.     which     once     had 

been 
gift  oi  years  before 
The  y.  is  dying 
The  J',  is  going 
Ring  in    the    thousand 

years 
years  of  April  blood 
rathe  and  riper  years 
hy  y.  and  hour 
And  meets  the_>'. 
the  conquer' d  years 
thrice  three  years 


39- 
76. 


28.     s. 


YEARNING 

And  vacant  >". 
y.  for  the  friendship 

YEW 

Old^.  which  graspest 
dark>'.  that  graspest 
mouldering  of  zy. 

YIELD 

will  not^.  each  other 

YOUTH 

places  of  hisjc. 
Whose >'.  was  full 
outliving  heats  of  y. 
trouble  of  my  y. 
y.  and  babe 
laboring  in  his_j'. 
never  lost  hery. 

YULE 

merry  bells  of  V. 

YULE-CLOG 

y.  sparkled  keen 


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